


Calling On Song

by Parsnip



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parsnip/pseuds/Parsnip
Summary: [V 2.3]She's been on the run for most of her life, but thanks to a skillset that includes stabbing those that deserve it and singing for those that don't, she's made it through just fine - until one fateful night in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  With her luck run out and everyone counting on her, can Wren Trevelyan save the world?She'll bloody well try, anyway.(A slowly diverging depiction of canon events.)(This is a reworking of an existing piece on AO3, with additional content and an actual ending.   Fancy!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Calling On Song [Archived]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478076) by [Parsnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parsnip/pseuds/Parsnip). 



The tavern was almost empty so early in the day. A man in heavy robes slipped in and quickly cast his attention around the dimly lit space before making his way to the bar. A few regulars looked up from their meals, but looked away quickly once they spied his staff. _Another mage._ There'd been more lately, since the Circles fell, but familiarity had not bred contentment.

The barkeep leaned heavily on the scarred wooden bar as the man drew near.

"Need something?" the barkeep asked with a frown.

The man's voice shook slightly. "Yes, messere. I was told to come here to find a caravan guard," he said.

The barkeep looked around the room, then waved a hand toward the far corner. "Try that table," he said. "She might take you." He grabbed a rag and wiped at the bar surface. "Don't cause trouble," he added. "Or you'll have trouble."

"Thank you, messere," the man said, nodding quickly. 

He wound his way through the room, headed toward the table that was tucked into the farthest corner. The window over the table had its shutters propped open, casting light over the woman lounging easily on the bench against the wall.

She looked too young to be the person he was meant to find. Her softly rounded face was scattered with freckles which dappled her cheeks and nose. Sun-bleached red hair feathered around her cheeks and barely brushed her chin. Her hand was curled protectively over a battered lute which sat next to her on the bench.

She looked up at him, but didn't make a move to acknowledge his approach.

"I ask your pardon, miss," the man said.

"Mmm? Come for a song?" she asked. Her voice was warm, with a hint of a Starkhaven brogue.

"No, miss. I was told to speak to you about a caravan escort," the man said. 

"Ah, well, that is quite a different matter," she said. She leaned slightly toward him. "Where are you headed?"

"The Temple of Sacred Ashes, miss," he said.

She frowned and shifted in her seat, shoving her hair away from her face. "The Conclave," she murmured, mostly to herself. 

"Yes, miss. Please, it- there are just four of us, hardly any trouble. If you know anyone-"

She held up a hand to stop him. "Four of you. All mages?"

A flash of dismay crossed his face. "Yes, miss."

"The Conclave is soon," she said. "We would have to leave straight away."

He blinked. "We, miss?"

A hint of a grin tweaked her expression. "Yes. Did you not want a guard? You are speaking with the best you'll find in all of Ferelden."

The man pulled back slightly. "I must ask your pardon again. I was- I did not think to find a bard here."

"Mmm, well, you haven't quite," she said. "Bards are for Orlesian courts." Her nose wrinkled. "I am far more practical for your needs, messere. If you have the coin, then I can bring you to Andraste herself with no stopping for inconvenient assassinations along the way."

He hesitated a moment, sliding his fingers over the pouch of coins in his pocket. _She's either telling the truth, or a very confident liar. Still, it's a risk…_

She leaned slightly forward. 

"Do not be fooled by this innocent face, messere. Allow that pleasure for your foes," she said. "Still, if you do not believe me, you can try the next town. It'll be a day's walk east, and you should take the wooded path. The main road tends to collect bandits." She leaned back. "If you want someone here, I am your only option."

There had been eight in his party not a week before. They'd never make it to the next town without help. There really was no choice.

He pulled the pouch from his pocket and set it on the table. "This is what we have, miss," he said.

She reached out and lifted it.

He watched her pull the drawstrings and poke around the contents. He prayed it would be enough. He still had little sense of what things cost. They had not been allowed money in the Circle, and he knew he'd been badly treated at merchants since leaving. What could he do about it? It was hard enough finding anyone willing to sell to a mage at all, given the uprising.

She began slipping coins from the bag, tucking them quickly into the soft leather bracers around her wrists. After a quick accounting, she handed him back the pouch.

It was nearly as heavy as it had been before. He looked at her in confusion.

"That will do," she said. "Put the rest away. Sit here a moment messere…?"

He hesitated only a moment before sitting down on the bench opposite her. 

"Azi, miss," he said.

"Messere Azi," she said. "Watch my lute for me. I will return in a moment."

He watched as she slid the lute over, following it off the bench. She handed the instrument to him.

"If anyone asks," she said as she stood, "you are waiting for Little Bird."

 _Little Bird!_ He'd heard that name before, whispered in the halls of the Circle tower before the rebellion. He nodded, suddenly much relieved. "Yes, miss. Thank you."

She walked to the bar, speaking briefly with the barkeep before passing on through a door behind the bar. 

Azi waited, and he prayed.

 _Blessed Andraste, let this girl guide us safely_ , he pleaded silently.

When she returned, it was in patchwork leather armor, a traveller's cloak thrown over one shoulder. A pair of well-used daggers jutted above her shoulders in a fitted leather sheath. A few pouches were strapped to her belt, heavy with provisions.

Perhaps Andraste had heard him. He could only hope she was as capable as her worn gear and reputation suggested.

"Now then," she said, adjusting her belt, "shall we find your companions?" She reached for the lute, then offered him her hand.

"Yes," Azi said, relieved. "They're waiting just outside of town. Thank you."

"I will get you to the Conclave," she said. "You have my word."


	2. Chapter 2

The damp in the basement made the light from the torches shimmer against all the surfaces. The flickering glow cast on the unconscious woman in the cell made her look as though she were twitching. A dark bruise had bloomed under her left eye as she'd lain there, masking the freckles that elsewhere stood in stark relief against her too-pale face. 

A woman in armor stood on the other side of the bars, arms crossed as she scowled down at the crumpled form of the prisoner.

"Who is she?" the woman demanded.

"Her papers are signed with a picture of a bird," a second woman said, pacing nearby. "My scouts report that someone matching her description has been seen working as a singer, last known in Vintiver. This may be the same woman, but that does not explain her presence at the Conclave."

"But her _name_ , Leliana," the warrior said.

"I do not know, Cassandra. I have people working on this, but it is too soon. We will have to wait and see if she wakes," Leliana said.

Cassandra almost growled in frustration. "What of the mark?" she asked.

Inside the cell, an elf knelt down next to the girl. He took her left hand in his and turned it over. "Still growing. I have never seen its like," he said. 

The skin of her palm seemed to be nearly transparent, exposing a brilliant green light that undulated like waves beneath her skin. When he touched her hand, the light pulsed. 

"I have done all I can, Seeker, but it may yet kill her before she wakes," he said.

He slid his thumb over the mark and felt the raw magic within it spark under the girl's skin. Her arm shuddered.

"Unacceptable. She must be questioned," Cassandra said. "There must be something more-"

They all looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps. A runner burst down the steps into the jail, breathing hard. 

"Seeker! More demons have appeared on the field. The Commander is going to the front," the scout said, nearly breathless. "He says he will try to keep them away as long as he can."

" _More_ demons? We will be overrun if this does not stop," Cassandra said. She scowled and shook her head. "Thank you. You may go."

Once the scout had disappeared up the stairs again, Cassandra opened the door to the cell with a frustrated heave. "Surely there-"

The rattle of the metal gate sent a twitch through the girl on the floor. The elf rose up, reaching over to press his fingers to her neck.

"Solas?" Cassandra asked.

"She reacted to the sound," he said. "She may yet come around."

"Bring her out here," Cassandra said. "We take no chances. I want a circle around her, blades at the ready."

"Cassandra," Leliana said disapprovingly. "Remember that we need her alive."

"I remember," Cassandra said. "I want answers, Leliana. I mean to have them."

Solas stepped away and watched as two Templars hoisted the woman up and dragged her into the center of the cell block, leaving her in a folded heap on the floor. He frowned as Cassandra stepped forward and tied the woman's wrists in front of her.

"I believe I will observe the Breach," he said. "If the mark is connected to it, perhaps the answer to waking her may be found there."

"Thank you, Solas," Leliana said. "Take Varric with you if you must leave Haven. I will send word if there is progress here."

He cast a final look at the battered prisoner, silent and motionless on the stone floor. He shook his head. 

There was nothing more for him here.

* * *

 

Little Bird nearly fell in the snow again, and clenched her jaw in frustration. It felt as though her body were not her own. Familiar motions carried with them a constant sparking sensation across her skin and up her arm, and making contact with the demons shot her through with pain. She pressed on through it, teeth gritted against the sensations. The Seeker hadn't killed her - somehow - and if she wanted to live long enough to appreciate that stroke of luck she suspected she would have to remain compliant and uncomplaining.

Shouts from above had Cassandra cursing beneath her breath. "We must hurry," she said. "They will need our help."

Little Bird flicked her borrowed daggers from their sheaths again, trying not to wince. "They?" she asked.

"You will see," Cassandra said.

Little Bird climbed the steps quickly, trying to ignore the burning in her left arm. She dropped into stealth just before the top, peering over to see a nest of demons trying to take out a dwarf with a truly astonishing crossbow and a tall elf wielding a heavy staff. Mages could still fight up close, but a crossbow - that was always a distance weapon. 

She darted toward the demons that penned in the dwarf. From the shadows, she leapt up and drove her blades down into the nearest demon. It bellowed and dissipated as the daggers sliced through its body. The sound drew the attention of the other demon, who turned just in time for Little Bird to twist herself around and drive forward toward it. The demon reached for her head with a roar.

She ducked. A sudden sound on her right was followed directly by a thump as the demon took a crossbow bolt to the side. It staggered enough for Little Bird to get her dagger in under where its ribs would be, if it had ribs. 

It turned into a pile of dust, and she stood again. There was an uncomfortable silence as she turned to face the others. The other demons were gone, felled by the elf and the Seeker, who watched Little Bird with matching expressions of wariness.

She put her daggers away as quickly as she could and held up her empty hands.

"Hey," the dwarf said easily. "You're not dead. Good job, kid."

"Thanks," she said. 

He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Varric Tethras," he said. "Rogue, storyteller, and sometimes, unwelcome tagalong." His grin was wide and genuine, and eased a smile from Little Bird in return.

"Varric Tethras," she said. She reached out, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "I think I've heard of you."

"Ah, a fan of my work! You and the Seeker have something in common," he said. He turned his head to give Cassandra a wink. She scowled at him firmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Varric. Thank you for missing my head with that bolt earlier," Little Bird said.

"Bianca has good manners," he said. "Don't you worry." He affectionately patted the crossbow strapped over his shoulder.

"Bianca. The crossbow?" Little Bird asked.

"The one and only," Varric said. 

"She's lovely," she said. 

"Thank you. I happen to agree." He grinned. 

"I am Solas, if there are to be introductions," the elf said, stepping forward and nodding formally. "I am pleased to see you still live."

A sparking jolt shot up her arm, tensing every muscle up through her shoulder. "Wren," she said, exhaling her name carefully through the pain. "Pleased to meet you, Solas. I don't use my name much with strangers, but it seems prudent to make an exception. Best to die with your own name attached."

"We will try to see that you do not die," Cassandra said. "We need to find out if you can do something about the Breach."

"I'll try to be useful until then," Wren said, shaking away the last of the fizzling pain in her arm.

Varric chuckled.

* * *

 

By the time they'd made it to the forward camp, dealt with Chancellor Roderick, and climbed to the mountain path, the pain was constant. It coursed through her body in waves, leaving her barely able to grip her dagger. It felt like lightning in her veins, watering her eyes and making her reckless.

She needed to do something.

"This mark," she said, looking at Solas.

"Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You said it connects to the Fade," she said. "Like the rifts, and the Breach."

"That is my best estimation," he said.

"Magic is connected to the Fade," Wren said. 

"It is. Is there a question?" Solas asked.

"Could Templars subdue the rifts?" she asked. "Their whole purpose is suppressing magic."

"They have not yet been able to do so," Solas said, "though we have not had many of them available to test the theory."

"But do you think enough of them _could_?" she asked.

"It is possible," he allowed, face crossed with a frown, "but I stress that this would be a last option. We do not know what may happen if we tried. It could prove fatal for the Templars."

Wren nodded.

As they emerged into the light again, another rift split the sky ahead. Demons spilled out, seizing upon the soldiers nearby. The mark on Wren's hand sparked to life again, as if it were calling to the Fade through the rift. She bit her tongue to keep from making a sound.

She fought through the demons, head awash with the green light and the burning in her veins. Focusing was nearly impossible, and she found herself relying on instinct and training to keep her moving. Stealth, flank, leap. One, two, dodge. 

The one moment of peace came when she closed the rift. The process made her feel as though she were being pulled inside out, but the _snap_ when the rift closed brought a wash of relief so powerful that it nearly took her legs out from under her. She caught a few beautiful breaths of quiet before the fizzing started again, chasing up her veins in eager little sparks.

That thin moment of peace could become addicting, if this continued. If she didn't die, Wren could easily see herself wandering the land, searching for rifts like an outcast Templar looking for lyrium.

Lyrium… that wasn't the answer, but perhaps the Templars were.

Wren had been a good caravan guard - the best, if you asked her when she was looking for work - in part because she'd been given to the Templars as a child. For years, the Order had honed her into a blade for the Chantry. Her last years in training, they'd begun teaching her to perform that key trick - suppressing magic.

A Templar was never given lyrium before the vigil, but the Order could hardly feed them the power without first training them to handle it. It was possible for nearly every trainee to manage some amount of blocking, and Wren had been no exception.

She'd left the Order, but she'd kept on practicing her blocking. It wasn't a huge benefit to her, but she'd figured out ways over the years to give it some purpose. The thought had crossed her mind more than once that suppressing magic felt almost like a kind of magic in itself - though she'd hardly be the one to bring that up to the Templars.

As Varric looted the piles of ash that used to be demons, Wren thought back to the days she'd spent trying to master suppression. If the mark was tied to magic, perhaps she could manage to do something to it. She couldn't be rid of it, but if she could just quiet it...

She closed her eyes. She felt the fizzing in her veins, sparking through her. She drew on her will and began to force it back toward the mark on her hand. The invading magic in her body fought back, almost as if it were a cornered dog. _Maker_ , this was harder than any attempt she'd made before, even against the mages that had helped train them. 

She felt too hot, skin too tight, but she couldn't bring herself to stop trying. She used to chant something to focus, back when she'd first begun training - what had it been? One of the Canticles… _ah._

_Let chaos be undone,_ she chanted in her head. _Let chaos be undone._

She imagined her body made of flesh and bone and blood alone, no tendrils of magic burning her inside. She forced her will through the image, pushing hard against the magic that pulsed from her hand.

Was it illusion or truth that the pain began pulling away, retreating back into the mark? She focused on that feeling, and kept pushing, chasing it down her arm. In the wake of the magic, her body tingled like a sleeping limb jostled to life.

_Let chaos be undone._

Her ears popped, clearing her hearing. Until that moment, she hadn't noticed the dimmed sense. She could hear the sound of the Seeker's footsteps on the snow.

_Let chaos be undone._

Solas' lighter footfalls joined the Seeker's. "Are you unwell?" he asked.

"Just a headache," Wren said. She touched her hand to a swollen bruise on her temple as if it were troubling her.

The sparking was focusing down to a throbbing point on her palm. Wren imagined it being locked away, shut out from her body. She focused on the edges, healing it over, keeping it back. 

_Let chaos be undone,_ she pleaded. 

The pulsing stopped. A chill swept through her, prickling her skin and making her shiver.

She opened her eyes and looked down at her hand.

It looked the same as before, as if the tear in the Fade was sealed within her palm. The light calmly undulated, casting light on her fingers when she curled them. Moving her left hand was uncomfortable, but she could do it. 

_Let chaos be undone,_ she reminded it. She clamped it down in her head, willing it to stay sealed.

"We need to keep moving," Cassandra said. "The temple is just ahead."

Wren looked down the hill at the smouldering crater beyond and felt her stomach turn. _So many dead_. Every other guard she'd met on the road. The mages she'd led. The sly little spy in the kitchens who had snuck her supper the first night. The Vashoth mercenaries that had clapped her on the back and offered her a drink.

She breathed in slowly, then out.

"Yes," she agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

The coursing pain through Wren's body signalled her rise through unconsciousness to the world of the living again. She sat up, gasping, grabbing her arm in a reflex action. She pulled her will together and shoved hard at the mark's spread.

_Let chaos be undone. Let chaos be **bloody well** undone._

The magic slunk back into the mark like a scolded dog, and she clamped down on it. _No more._ Maker, when she'd closed that Breach it had felt like she'd been torn apart, flayed by the force of the mark trying to knit the sky back together. Wren stared down at the placidly undulating light in her hand, calming her breathing to the rhythm of the waves.

A small noise in the room snapped Wren's attention from her hand. She looked up to see an elven girl drop to her knees and cower.

"I beg your forgiveness, mistress, and your blessing," the girl babbled in a panic. Had she spoken before then? Wren couldn't be sure.

"My… blessing?" Wren shook her head. "I don't- are you alright? What do you mean?"

"They say you saved us," the girl said. "The Breach in the sky stopped growing."

Wren's breath caught in her throat. _It had worked._ All she'd seen before blacking out was white and green light, blotting out her vision.

The girl looked up quickly, then back at the floor. "Like the mark on your hand," she explained.

Wren slid her right thumb over the mark, feeling the pulse of it beneath her skin.

"That's good," Wren said. Then more certainly, she repeated, "That's good. Please don't stay on the floor, it's- I'm not- please get up."

The girl clambered to her feet, rushing to pick up a fallen crate. "Please," the elf said, setting the crate on a table. "Lady Cassandra wanted to see you when you woke. She said you should come at once."

"Oh." Wren cast her eyes around the room. A few windows, but all of them closed. "Is she angry with me?" Wren asked anxiously.

The elf looked up, surprised. "Angry with you? No, my lady. We owe you our lives."

The pounding in Wren's chest didn't abate, but she nodded. "I'll go see her," she said.

The elf nodded in return, a bit frantically, but she didn't move until Wren added, "At once.".

"My lady - thank you," the girl said, wringing her hands before turning away.

Wren watched the girl flee, rushing from the room and shutting the door hard behind her as though Wren might spring from the bed and seize her at any moment.

_What does she think I might do?_ Wren wondered.

She looked back at the light in her palm. If the Breach was closed, why was the mark still here? Why did it keep fighting her?

Wren closed her hand to hide the mark, then slid around and pushed herself out of the bed.

No chains. No ties. The door was unlocked.

They were trusting her.

She straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair, and then slid her feet into her boots. She tied them up tight, wasting as much time as she dared before she crossed the room and opened the door.

Armored men and women stood around the path, blocking Wren's route to anywhere save the chantry at the top of the town. A feeling of terrible dread passed through her. _"Not angry" doesn't mean "not going to execute you"_ , she thought. _Should have been more specific._

She steadied herself and walked past the crowds. She heard murmurs, speaking about Cassandra, about Andraste, about the breach. The soldiers, however, remained stone-faced and heavily armed, waiting for her to do… something.

_Perhaps,_ she thought, _I should have climbed out a window after all._  
  


* * *

  
For the rest of her life Wren would remember how her mind went still just before she took Cassandra's hand, shaking it firmly, promising to do whatever she could to help the newly declared Inquisition.

Even if they'd asked, she wouldn't have been able to say why she'd done it. She was a glorified mercenary whose only redemptive quality was a certain choosiness in which jobs she took. Whatever Cassandra thought about Wren and the Mark and Andraste, Wren suspected the truth was far from holy - not unlike Wren herself.

She spent the next few days skirting attention, getting a feel for the camp. She stuck to the tree line, picking elfroot and watching Leliana send ravens out across the land. She watched Cassandra rally the troops. She saw a cart arrive, bearing a woman in a thick cloak who hurried into the Chantry and did not come back out.

Haven was coming to life again, but all Wren wanted was the blessed illusion that she could, at any moment, choose to leave. She could black her hair with ashes, smudge her face, change her voice, and become just another survivor waiting to leave. Another pilgrim come to join the holy cause, only to find nothing for them to do.

She knew she could, but at the same time - she couldn't. Within the walls of Haven, Wren was safe from the Chantry's justice. If she were found outside the influence of the fledgling Inquisition, she would more than likely find herself dangling at the end of a badly tied noose. Cassandra believed Wren was innocent, but Wren wasn't foolish enough to think that was a widely held belief.

She leaned against a tree near the edge of town and let the cold seep in through her layers of borrowed armor. No. She wouldn't go anywhere. It was safer this way, for her, and if the Mark continued to be of use, for everyone else as well.

A sound ringing across the way snagged her attention - who was hammering at the door to the Chantry? She slipped back into town to creep closer, peering around the edge of the fence. What was- ?

Her breath stilled in her chest. _No._

_A Templar._

Oh, certainly he wasn't wearing the armor, but everything about him screamed of the Order. The way he stood. The way he moved. The way he _breathed_.

Wren knew Templars, and this one was unmistakable.

She slunk further into the shadows, watching him with her heart pounding heavy in her chest. _Templars._ She'd been running from them for so long, and she'd been so careful-

He turned, and her breath caught for a whole new reason.

_Maker,_ he was pretty. Her stomach twisted and she pressed herself against the building as if he'd be able to feel her eyes on him. Broad at the shoulder, narrow at the hip, _tall_ , with golden hair in unreasonably perfect waves - the perfect advertisement for the Order. He looked as if he'd been carved out of Ferelden stone, serious and steady and horribly appealing.

She remained in the shadows as he strode away from the Chantry door. She watched as nearby soldiers ran up to him with questions. He gave orders, directed them as he passed down the road toward the main gates.

Not just a Templar, but one with rank. Knight-Captain, or perhaps Knight-Commander - though it hardly mattered which. Even a raw recruit was enough to make her nervous.

She drew further from the road, heart pounding. She'd been avoiding the troops as much as possible, because she'd known Templars were a possibility. How long had that one been here? How many did he have with him?

_Perhaps he'll take his men back to wherever they came from soon,_ she thought. _The sooner the better. The Chantry's swords can't possibly be here to help._  
  


* * *

  
The doors opened and Wren entered at the Seeker's heels, tugging idly at the soft leather of her bracers. Cassandra led her to the war table and moved to stand off to one side. Wren looked up, pulling on a performer's smile to smooth over whatever was coming next.

_Oh no._

The chill that coursed through her made her fingertips go numb. The Templar she'd avoided before was now standing opposite her across the war table, watching her.

Her urge to turn and run was so strong that she half expected to blink and find herself outside again.

"Wren."

Wren's attention snapped to Cassandra, who nodded once in the direction of the Templar.

"May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition's forces," Cassandra said.

_Commander? Then-_

He met her gaze directly and her thought snapped as sharply and painfully as a breaking bone.

He was more _real_ up close, and not so easily ignored. When he focused on her, he had a slight smile, as if his pleasure were a secret he was letting her in on. He looked… kind. _No, don't be taken in._

She clenched her left hand into a tight fist, hoping to feel the Mark jolt her in displeasure. It was, for once, accommodating. It fizzled against the pressure, giving her an edge of pain to use as a weapon. _Focus_ , she told herself. He was a Templar, and that made the sharp cleverness behind his eyes more danger than draw. She hadn't made it this far by letting a pretty face throw her off - now was certainly not the time to start.

He looked down, exhaling audibly. The tether broken, Wren was able to move, stretching her fingers out again. The fizzing in her hand sparked, scolding her. Whatever the Templar said next was lost in Wren's rush to push back against the aggravated mark.

The blocking worked more quickly this time. Wren's attention wasn't fully with Cassandra, but she still managed to fake her way through the next two introductions - Josephine, a pretty Antivan diplomat who said she had "already heard much" about Wren, and then Leliana, who turned out to the be the spymaster.

Wren very much hoped Josephine was lying about having heard much.

Cassandra began to pace.

"I mentioned before that your mark needs more power to close the breach for good," Cassandra said.

"As such, we must approach the rebel mages for help," Leliana said. She looked at the Templar, as if this were his cue. He didn't seem to notice the set-up, but fell in line all the same.

"I still disagree," he said with a frown. "The Templars could serve just as well."

Cassandra sighed wearily. "We need _power_ , Commander."

"And enough magic poured into that mark might destroy us all," he argued. "The Templars could suppress the Breach, _weaken_ it-"

Leliana rolled her eyes. "Pure speculation," she said.

The Commander looked at Wren as if she were the one needing the counter-argument. " _I_ was a Templar," he said. "I know what they're capable of."

Wren went still a moment, and this time it had nothing to do with the golden eyes that pinned her to the floor.

_Was._

He _was_ a Templar. More than that, he thought knowing that would convince her - which meant he couldn't know about her past with the Order. He still moved too much like a Templar to have been long out, but…

Josephine sighed, drawing the Commander's attention to her.

"Unfortunately," Josephine said, "neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and _you_ specifically."

She looked at Wren and pointed with the feathered end of her quill. "Some are calling you the 'Herald of Andraste'-" Josephine said.

" _What?_ " Wren took a half step back.

"-and that frightens the Chantry," Josephine continued. "The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you."

Cassandra scoffed. "Chancellor Roderick's doing, no doubt," she said.

"I am _not_ the Herald of Andraste," Wren said firmly. She shook her head. "I'm not the herald of anything! I guard _caravans_."

She saw the corner of the Commander's mouth twitch as he tried to hide a smile.

"People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing," Cassandra said patiently.

Wren shook her head, as if she could stop this from happening by denying it enough. "That doesn't make me holy," she said.

Cassandra looked at her. "They have also heard about the woman that was seen in the Rift when we found you. They believe that was Andraste," she said.

Given the way Cassandra looked at her, Wren suspected that by "they", the Seeker meant "we".

_Please tell me she's alone in this opinion._ Wren cast her eyes around the room

Josephine looked hopeful. _Shit._

Leliana's expression was inscrutable, and the Commander met her gaze levelly. He raised an eyebrow.

"That's quite the title, isn't it?" he asked. "How do you feel about that?"

He sounded a bit amused. _Easy enough for him, nobody made him a holy figure while he slept._

"I don't know how to feel about it," Wren said, allowing the lie to be obvious.

This time, his smirk did not stay hidden, and _Maker,_ having that directed at her was like being headbutted by a druffalo. She had the sudden terrible suspicion that she was going to blush, and the horror of it was enough to send a spark up her left arm again.

"The Chantry has decided that for you, it seems," he said.

Leliana cleared her throat.

"Even if we tried to stop people talking about you being the Herald-" Leliana said.

Wren looked over at her hopefully.

"Which we have not," Cassandra said firmly.

"The point is, everyone is talking about you," Leliana said. "The people are desperate for a sign of hope. For some of them, _you_ are that sign."

Wren looked down at the war table. Wooden tokens marked certain points on the map, many of them places she'd visited. She thought of the people she'd taken across Ferelden over the last ten years - merchants, travellers, and refugees mostly. Most of them just wanted something better over the next hill, and they hoped she would help them reach it.

She had been determined to keep them safe, and her record was better than most. But this… this was no simple caravan job. This was bigger, much bigger, and the idea of it made her feel trapped and woefully inadequate.

"For others, you are a sign of everything that's gone wrong," Josephine said. "It limits our options. Approaching the mages _or_ the Templars is currently out of the question."

Wren shook her head. "What do the people here think?"

"In Haven? They've seen what you can do, what you have done," Cassandra said. "Most are at least trusting of our judgement of you. Many also think you can heal the Breach for good, despite the Chantry's feelings on the matter."

"Is the Chantry less concerned about the Breach than it is about some rumours about me?" Wren asked. "Surely the Breach is more important."

"Everyone knows the Breach is a threat," the Commander said. "They just don't think _we_ can stop it."

"The Chantry is telling everyone you'll make it worse," Josephine said.

Wren nodded. _How,_ she wondered, _do you know we won't?_

"What do you want me to do?" Wren asked carefully.

"There is a Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle that has asked to speak to you," Leliana said. "She's tending the wounded in the Hinterlands."

"Can we trust her?" Wren asked.

"I believe so," Leliana said. "She is known as a protector of the people, a good and level-headed woman. Her help could be invaluable, if you could secure it."

Wren looked back at the war table. There was a marker on the map, south of Redcliffe.

"I can go to her," she said, "if nothing else, we may be able to bring them some supplies."

"Look for any opportunities to expand the Inquisition's influence while you're there," the Commander said.

"We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley," Josephine said encouragingly, "and you're better suited than anyone to recruit them."

Wren stared at that marker on the table. She'd been in Redcliffe two years ago. She'd sung in the Gull and Lantern for two weeks before taking up with a caravan headed toward Denerim. It had been a pretty little town then, quiet after the chaos of prior years. Now, all of the Hinterlands seemed to be a war zone.

How in the Maker's name did they expect her to recruit people, and for what? She hardly knew what _she_ was doing, much less what they needed from anyone else. How did they think she could "spread influence"? What did that even _mean_?

"In the meantime, let's think of other options," Cassandra said, breaking Wren's concentration. "I won't leave this all to the Herald."

_The Herald._

Wren's face went ever so slightly pale.

Cassandra cleared her throat, and Wren's head snapped up at attention immediately. She turned to look at the Seeker with near-military sharpness.

"I have faith in you," Cassandra said, almost kindly. "As does Solas. He has offered to accompany us to the Hinterlands."

"Varric as well," Leliana pointed out.

"Of course," Cassandra grumbled. "Varric as well."

"You and I are both going?" Wren clarified.

"Yes. I will not leave you undefended," Cassandra said. "It is a long walk to the crossroads, and we do not have enough horses to speed the way. We should leave as soon as possible. Does tomorrow morning suit you?"

"Yes," Wren said quickly. "Of course."

"You should prepare, then. Thank you. You are free to go, Herald," Cassandra said.

Wren nodded once, quickly. She turned quickly and was out of the room and gone before Josephine could open her mouth to bid the newly-minted Herald a good day.

"That went well," Leliana chuckled.

Cassandra shook her head. "I had hoped she would be more comfortable with the title, but it cannot be helped."

"By the time you return, I should have a report on her prepared. My people have been looking," Leliana said. "It has been trickier than expected."

"Any particular reason?" Cullen asked.

"She gave us only a first name, and it isn't an unusual name for this part of the world. She seems to have no permanent home, and nothing on her person gave a clue about a family or friends," Leliana said. "As she said, she was a caravan guard, and she was working under a different name than the one she gave us. I have had to use more agents than expected to track her down, but I am confident we will have our information soon enough."

"Hmm," Cullen said. He frowned. "She seemed… uncomfortable," he said.

Josephine stifled a chuckle. "She seemed more than uncomfortable," she said. "She did an admirable job of hiding it, but I do believe it may take some coaxing before she trusts any of us. Perhaps you might work on this, Cassandra."

"I am not certain I am the best one for that job," Cassandra said.

"Perhaps if you had not threatened to have her killed," Leliana said.

"Ugh. At least she seems to like Varric well enough. Perhaps he will finally have a use after all."


	4. Chapter 4

As they drew further away into the countryside, Wren visibly relaxed.

Ferelden terrain was familiar to her, and being out on the road felt far safer than being penned up in Haven. Wren stayed out in front, leading the way and keeping a sharp eye open for demons, bandits, bears, and wolves. She stayed in sight of the others in deference to Cassandra, though the Seeker spent more of her time getting drawn into petty arguments with Varric and Solas than she did watching her newly minted Herald.

When getting a rise out of Cassandra grew boring, Varric walked up to join Wren at the front.

"Why can't any of this happen in a nice, sensible town?" Varric grumbled companionably.

Wren hummed in agreement and smiled. "Fewer bears in town. More proper beds, too. And bakeries." She sighed. "I miss sweet rolls. I like the twisted ones with the golden tops and the spices in the middle the best."

"Got a sweet tooth, eh, Birdy?" Varric chuckled.

"Maybe a bit," she said.

"Me, I like a good tavern. Or a terrible one, I'm not picky," Varric said. "Don't suppose you know of a decent place where we're going."

"The depends on how you define 'decent'," Wren said. "There used to be a place not far from here, but with the fighting - hard to say if it's still there."

"How would _you_ define decent?" Varric asked.

"Good supply of proper cider and a regular crowd that tips," Wren answered promptly.

" _Cider_? What, too young for ale?" Varric asked.

"I turn fourteen this year," Wren said in mock defense. "I'm practically grown."

Varric grinned. "Even I won't buy that one, Birdy."

"Fine," she said, "Twelve."

He chuckled.

They walked a moment or two in silence - comfortable silence, at least - before Varric cracked.

"Why would you need a crowd that tips?" he asked.

"When I was between real jobs, I sang in taverns," Wren said. "I could usually arrange room and board if I was willing to sing every night and do a bit of hauling kegs around during the day. Tips were my only cash income, so I appreciated them."

"What was your real job?" he asked.

"I was a caravan guard," she said. "The best one in Ferelden."

"That's reassuring," Varric said. "So, I suppose you know right where we are."

"Close enough," she said. "Not much longer and we should be able to see the camp we were promised."

"Maybe you'll be able to," Varric grumbled. "I'm a dwarf. It'll be longer for me."

"You ever want a better view, let me know," Wren said. She winked. "I'll let you ride on my shoulders."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or horrified that a teenager just flirted with me," he said.

"Flattered," Wren said. "I _am_ quite the catch. Besides, I've always had very discerning tastes."

"It's the chest hair, isn't it? It's always the chest hair. Ladies can't get enough."

"Really? Can't say as I noticed it," Wren said. She grinned. "I was too lost in admiring your arms and that fetching scar on your nose."

"That's laying it on a bit thick, Birdy," Varric said. "Nobody admires the nose."

"I have a vast capacity for admiration," Wren said. She led them around a rock and down toward an easier slope. "And it's a perfectly nice nose. It pales in comparison to your sparkling wit, of course."

"All right, what are you selling?" Varric asked.

Wren laughed.

Varric offered his shoulder for Wren to hold as she picked her way down to peer through the trees. She braced herself lightly, then leaned more onto him as she stretched up to see over a branch.

"So, a woman of singular tastes," Varric said. "Any regrettable romances in the past?"

"Oh, plenty" Wren said. "But nothing entertaining enough to talk about." She stepped back and shook her head slightly. "Bit farther."

"Come on," Varric said. "You must have a few good stories. Embarrassing teenage crushes?"

"Oh, sure, plenty of those. All teenage crushes are embarrassing. I spent two years with a crush on a man out of the Chantry's 'good boy' register book," Wren said, rolling her eyes at her own answer.

"The _what?_ " Varric asked.

"I can't remember the actual title. It's a book of little biographies of all the best, most pious, most worthy members of the Chantry," Wren said. "They're also from the wealthy families that sponsor the book, which I'm _sure_ is coincidental."

"Why am I not surprised?" Varric asked rhetorically. "Of _course_ the Chantry keeps records of the best little boys and girls."

"With portraits," Wren added cheerfully.

"How did you get access to Chantry records?" Varric asked.

"Ah, now, that would be telling," Wren said. She paused, then changed their direction, curving her path to meet up with a pasture fence.

"Aw, come on, Birdy, give an old rogue some pointers, huh?" Varric walked behind Wren along the fence line, grateful for any sign of settled land.

"Old!" Wren laughed. She looked over her shoulder at him. "Varric, you're hardly old."

"And you're twelve. Or was it fourteen?" he asked.

"One hundred and sixteen last week," Wren said.

"You don't look a day over sixty," Varric said.

"You're too kind," Wren said. She turned slightly away from the fence, gesturing ahead. "You should be able to see the camp from here."

A few more steps brought them up just high enough, and she nodded toward the south. A quickly painted Inquisition flag waved by a wooden table. A handful of scouts paced about the camp, looking anxiously toward the crossroads beyond.

"Nice work," Varric said. "Let's get down there. The sooner we meet with this Chantry Mother, the sooner you can use your vast skills to lead me to a tavern."

 

* * *

 

There was something reassuring about Harritt. Perhaps it was that he was so grumpy, Wren thought, and so utterly unimpressed with everything. He just wanted to get his job done with a minimum of fuss. She could appreciate that.

After weeks in the Hinterlands, all Wren wanted was to have some repairs done to her armor, have her daggers seen to, and have a bath. Harritt, oddly enough, was the right man for all three of her requests.

"Your daggers we can fix, though you may want to just replace them. They're decent enough, but I could make better," he said. "These won't hold an edge very long, as I'm sure you're finding."

"You're not wrong," Wren said. "What would you need?"

"I'll get you a list. Now, this armor. It's crap," Harritt said. "But it shouldn't have torn like this. Do you have time?"

"I need to find some clean water and a stove," Wren said, "but otherwise, I think I'm free."

"Fill a bucket with snow and set it by the forge. By the time you finish telling me what did this to your armor, it should be warm enough," he said. "Then you can take it to wherever you're going and I can get to work."

"Deal," Wren said.

In the war room, a runner left, and Josephine shook her head.

"No one has seen her enter the gates. It has been nearly an hour. I do not believe she is coming," Josephine said.

"She said she had something to see to, but I assumed she would come here afterward," Cassandra said. "I told her I would see her later."

"Perhaps you should have been more direct," Josephine said. "You did say in your letters that she does not seem to think her position here is important. It is possible that she assumed she was not needed."

"She told Varric that she was simply grateful we did not let the Chantry kill her," Cassandra said. "But if the truth be told, we could not have done half the work we did in the Hinterlands without her. More than a few refugees recognised her, and a few knew her well enough to trust us by extension. Things could have been far more difficult than they were."

"That is a welcome advantage," Leliana said. "I will speak to her later, then. For now, we can go over the reports. We need to plan for Val Royeaux."

As evening took the sky, Leliana left the Chantry and went in search of the missing Herald. It took little enough work to track her - she wasn't hiding. The Herald was sitting on a flat rock in the woods, watching the sky change colors. When Leliana approached, Wren stood quickly, brushing herself off.

"Spymaster," Wren said.

"Herald," Leliana said. "Was your trip successful?"

"We did as requested," Wren said. "We spoke with Mother Giselle. We secured supplies for the refugees and tracked down the horsemaster at your Commander's request."

"According to Cassandra," Leliana said, "you also brought in two new agents and carried back no less than ten bear pelts."

"Harritt needed the leather," Wren said.

"He did," Leliana agreed.

She walked over and sat on the rock near where Wren had been sitting before. After a moment, Wren sat back down, curling her arms around her legs protectively.

"I have a report you should see," Leliana said. She pulled a paper from her bag and handed it to Wren.

Wren look it cautiously.

_Your Herald's name is Wren Elselein Marcelette Trevelyan. She was born on the 10th of Harvestmere in 9:14. She was fourth in line to the Bannorn of Ostwick in the Free Marches until she was disowned in 9:32._

A chill settled over Wren, dark and cutting. She looked over at Leliana.

"I didn't have this report until yesterday. You're a hard woman to track down," Leliana said.

Wren skimmed the rest of the page. In neat letters, it detailed the barest bones of her life. Given to the Templar Order at birth, she was not sent to the Chantry until the age of five. She remained in Templar training until her disappearance during her vigil at 17. No official records existed of Wren Trevelyan after this point. Spotty accounts of a "Little Bird" confirmed Wren's claims of being a caravan guard and occasional bard.

A small note in different handwriting was added to the end of the page.

"'Information gained from former Templar commander'," Wren read aloud, "'as her file was cleared some years before'?"

"A bit of luck, that. We can hardly have the Herald of Andraste seized by the Templar Order and dragged off for desertion," Leliana said. "We barely managed to hold onto you when it was just the Chantry demanding your head. You aren't also wanted by anyone else, are you? Did you run out on the Wardens? Are you under contract with the Crows?"

Wren coughed out a laugh. "No," she said. "I'm not a Warden, and I've never been to Antiva. The Templars-"

"Have no reason to look for you," Leliana said. "You may as well have never existed, as far as they're concerned."

"Never existed," Wren breathed. "How?"

"According to the man we questioned, several years ago all records of your involvement with the Order were burned, under the order of a Hanson Beckwith," Leliana said. "All our man could say was that Beckwith felt it was not worth the manpower to bring you in."

"That's…" Wren's grip contorted the paper. "I didn't know. If this is true, then I only have to worry about the ones that knew me."

"Should Templars from Ostwick be among those we encounter, they would have no grounds to seize you. You may face their displeasure, of course," Leliana said, "but I assume it would not prove fatal."

Wren set down the paper and hugged her legs again. Her head felt cloudy, and she felt as though her limbs were made of jelly.

"I can't believe it," she said.

"We could hardly get anything done if you continued to avoid the troops - and the Commander," Leliana said. "However this came about, it's fortunate."

Wren snapped a guilty look over toward Leliana, who smiled without looking back.

"He makes you uncomfortable," Leliana said. "Given your past, I understand your caution. He _is_ loyal to the Inquisition, however, despite his history."

"My life depends on Templars never noticing me," Wren said. "I- it wasn't anything personal."

"Depended," Leliana corrected. "You are free of that now."

Wren's arms tightened around her legs.

"I have to decide how much of this the others need to know, and when," Leliana said. "Perhaps your name and that your family has disowned you. We already knew you were a caravan guard and an occasional bard. That may be enough."

"Why aren't you telling them everything?" Wren asked.

"To be blunt, because it's more important that you trust me than it is for them to know the details of your life," Leliana said. "You are the Maker's chosen. You can repair these tears into the Fade. We need you."

"And now I owe you, for saving me from the Chantry and for freeing me from the Templars," Wren said.

"We did nothing to free you from the Templars, though perhaps in telling you about it, I might get some credit. We _were_ the ones that saved your life after you fell from the Fade, though, if we're counting," Leliana said. "It would be better if you were staying out of desire rather than to repay debts, but if debts keep you here, I'll use the tools I have."

Wren nodded. "I would do the same, in your place," she said.

Leliana turned to look at Wren. "Tell me," Leliana said. "Does the Divine's death mean something to you?"

Wren paused. "It does," she said cautiously. "I may not have ties to the Chantry anymore, but I know what she represented, what she meant to people. I didn't think the Conclave would work, but it mattered that she was trying."

"She wasn't certain it would work either," Leliana said. "That's why she was prepared to call the Inquisition."

Leliana stood, then took two steps and turned. "She believed in us," she said, looking down at Wren. "I think she would have believed in you, as well."

Wren climbed to her feet, grabbing the paper as she stood. She handed it back to Leliana.

"Thank you. Good night, Herald," Leliana said. "I will send you a copy of the official report in the morning."

 

* * *

 

Perhaps it was foolish to trust Leliana, but as Wren lay in bed that night, she decided that she would. The cost of the lie would outweigh the benefit of Wren's compliance, unless this game was far more intricate than even Wren's overblown imaginings.

The report arrived in the morning, and indeed, it had only her name, her age, and that she had been disowned by her family. It confirmed that she had been a caravan guard for at least ten years. It did not mention her time in the Order.

It was a relief, and as a sign of her trust in the Spymaster, Wren steeled herself and went to watch the troops.

They were doing well, considering. She could pick the Templars out easily, and there were more of them than she had imagined. Something was driving them to the Inquisition. In her experience, Templars didn't care much for change. Whatever was causing them to join up with a rebel organization must have been very compelling - and that was worrying.

Wren climbed up and sat on one of the large crates by the tents, watching the battles and letting the sound wash over her.

"Your Worship."

She turned quickly. A Templar stood next to the crate, arms crossed.

"That is what they're calling you, right? 'The Herald of Andraste'?" the woman asked with clear irritation.

"If you know out how to get them to stop, I'm all ears," Wren said.

A bit of the tension in the woman's shoulders eased. "Then you're not taken in by it. Good. I'm Lysette. Your people saved my life in Haven, and I intend to pay that debt."

She extended her hand to Wren, and Wren shook it firmly.

"I'm Wren. We're in rather the same position, aside from the thing on my hand," Wren said. "They saved me as well, so here I am."

"I suppose that's true," Lysette said. "So tell me, Wren. What do you think of your troops? I notice you haven't been to see them before now. Not a warrior yourself?"

"A lowly caravan guard only," Wren said. "And even then not much of a warrior proper. I'm more of a 'stab them in the kidneys when they aren't looking' sort of fighter."

One of the men nearest them faltered, taking a blow he should have easily deflected. Wren and Lysette both frowned, and under their breath mumbled, "Shield arm up."

Their comments were drowned out by Cullen bawling, "There's a shield in your hand, block with it! If this were a battle, you'd be dead!"

Lysette shook her head.

"They'll learn," she said. "You could train with them, if you wanted to build your skills."

"You don't think they'd find it distracting, having the 'Herald of Andraste' trying to stab them?" Wren asked.

"If it distracts them, they'll deserve the hits," Lysette said. "Demons will not be so accommodating as you may be."

"Mmm," Wren agreed. "The ones we fought were certainly not interested in showing us any kindness."

Lysette cast an assessing look at the soldiers, then shifted her attention back over to Wren.

"It is good that you've shown interest today," Lysette said. "I am certain it will raise morale."

"They're good recruits," Wren said. "If my attention helps, then I'm happy to give it."

Lysette nodded. "It will. It was good to speak with you, Wren. It has eased my mind."

"I'm glad," Wren said. "And if you do work out how to get people to stop calling me 'Your Worship', let me know, would you?"

Lysette chuckled. "Deal," she said.

After a moment, Lysette took to the field. She slipped in easily among the soldiers, falling in step and taking the place of a flagging recruit. Wren watched her for a bit, admiring the way she efficiently disarmed the man she faced.

There was something reassuring in the rhythms of training. At first it seemed chaotic, but with a bit of work you could get your eye in, find the patterns, and see the flow of the battle. Actual fighting was nothing like trained battle, in Wren's experience. On the road, her fights were quick and inelegant, with any method that worked being the one used. There was little room for artistry when fighting for your life against beasts and bandits.

Battle training was more about war. She hoped they weren't preparing for one.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a reason Wren never worked in Orlais. Well, multiple reasons, but a big one was this - Orlais was _complicated._ Everything about it required fifteen more steps than should have been necessary. Nobody took you seriously without the correct hat from the correct season. You had to talk to five people just to get to the one that had the power to answer you.

Val Royeaux was the pinnacle of Orlesian complication. Of course, it was also beautiful, glittering and golden. Even the road leading to the gates was perfectly curved to show the walls at best advantage. The people they passed were no less careful in choosing their best angles.

When they reached the gates, however, it seemed the rumours - and Roderick - had poisoned every well-appointed ear. People recoiled at the sight of them, afraid that the Inquisition was coming to hurt them. They were, it seemed, hoping that the newly-arrived Templars would save them.

"The Templars are here?" Wren asked. She tensed, immediately running through escape routes in her mind. Turning right around to run would be too obvious. Was there an alley inside that led back out? A side gate? A- no. She didn't need to do this now. Leliana's report had said the Templars had no reason to look for Wren, and hadn't in years. _Maker, I hope she's right._

"Yes, my lady," the scout said. "Lord Seeker Lucius brought them."

"Perhaps they can be reasoned with," Cassandra said. "It would be good to find out."

Wren nodded, but kept her doubts to herself. _Reason_ was not one of the Templar specialties, particularly high in the ranks. Anyone that questioned things would have been weeded out long before they became Lord anything.

There were no Templars in the square when they arrived. Wren's relief was short-lived; the Chantry mothers they had come to meet were instead holding court in the square, and denouncing the Inquisition to all that would listen. It seemed Mother Giselle's list of sympathetic Mothers had been all but useless. Despite efforts from both Cassandra and Wren, the only thing that halted the head Chantry Mother's screed was the arrival of Lord Seeker Lucius - and that, he achieved with a fist.

A disaster all around, in Wren's opinion. The Mothers decried them. No one would listen. Most of the Templars under Lucius seemed to look right through everyone around them - unsettling, to say the least.

The Lord Seeker, however, seemed to see them just fine. "The former Trevelyan girl," he sneered as he passed, just loudly enough for Wren to hear. "I heard about you. Shame you left the Order. I would have enjoyed bringing you to heel."

Wren remained studiously blank, refusing to dignify him with a reaction.

"No matter," he said. "The Templars are brought to a higher cause, and you are nothing but a worthless distraction."

There was something chilling in his tone, in the dead, flat look he gave as he moved on. It was more than the feeling that the wrong man was leading the Templars. It felt more sinister than that, and Wren could not wait to leave Orlais for Ferelden again. The more distance between her and the Lord Seeker, the better.

 

* * *

 

"It's good you've returned," Josephine said. "We heard of your encounter."

Wren followed behind as Cassandra met up with Josephine in the Chantry hall. Cassandra had been very clear - Wren was wanted in the war room _every time_ , and not just when specifically invited. What _Wren_ wanted was a wash and a change of clothes, but here she was regardless, dusty and tired and trying not to seem as though she were either.

 _Red handkerchiefs,_ Wren mused, letting the conversation fade around her. _It could be a coincidence, but the friends references, the color..._

She became aware that the others were stopping. _Hmm?_ The advisors lined up in a row in front of her, and Wren was suddenly reminded of the times she'd been questioned by Chantry Mothers back in Ostwick. A built in sense of panic crept over her.

Everyone was looking at her expectantly. _Shit, someone must have asked a question._

"At least we know how to approach the mages and Templars now," Wren said. She tried hard not to make it sound like a question. _Was that the right answer?_

"Do we?" Cassandra asked.

Everyone started walking toward the war room, and Wren followed again. _Close enough_. They went back and forth, talking about the Lord Seeker's odd behavior, about him taking the Templars away somewhere, about how suspicious it all was. Wren tailed them, half-listening, half absorbed in her own thoughts.

It was a relief to hear her worries spoken by someone else.

When discussion turned toward the mages, Wren was not in the least surprised to hear Cullen begin grumbling about danger and caution. Behind his strained tone, she thought she could feel the edge of something like fear in his voice. No great surprise, that. Templars were taught to fear mages, after all. Leliana had said he was loyal to the Inquisition, but no one can entirely escape their past.

A sudden jolt shot up her arm, setting her teeth on edge and frying any thought. She slammed back against the mark, the force of the burn blurring the world beyond her body. Everything narrowed to the pain.

 _What had happened?_ Was she blocking the wrong way? She needed to get control, and fast. Maybe if she focused less on the mark itself, and more on her own body she could wall it off, keep it from lashing out at her. Not seal it off, exactly, but...

_Let chaos be undone. Let chaos be undone. Let chaos be-_

She fought to keep her eyes open, to maintain the illusion that she was hearing a word they were saying. _Was something happening to the Breach? Was it connected to the smaller rifts? Was it something in the Fade?_

The advisors and Cassandra slowed. They were turning toward her again, and she hadn't heard a word. Sparks skittered up her arm, and she gritted her teeth. _No, no, not now, not while she was fighting this… whatever it was._ She couldn't fake it twice, no one was that lucky, and she didn't want to answer any questions.

"You could stop bickering and make a decision," she said, her voice tight with what she hoped they'd assume was frustration.

"I agree," Cassandra said, nodding approvingly. At least, that's what Wren thought the Seeker had said. She still wasn't hearing Cassandra, not really, and lip reading was not one of Wren's best skills. Regardless, it drew the attention off Wren again, and she was able to focus her attention on blocking.

She pictured peeling away the shielding over the mark, abandoning the idea of sealing it in. She imagined cutting a window in the blocking, releasing the light inside. She imagined building strong walls, as if the mark were water and she were building a well to contain it. She pulled the mark from her body, from her arm, and focused it on her hand.

The light seemed to shiver in response.

 _Let chaos be undone,_ she reminded herself. She risked closing her eyes a moment.

She felt the release come over her, slowly, like snow melting down her back. Sound trickled back to her, the hum of the voices becoming distinct again. The conversation had moved on without her, though no conclusions had apparently been drawn. How long were they going to keep debating between mages and Templars? The impasse between the Commander, Leliana, and the Ambassador seemed set in stone.

She opened her eyes. It took a long, worrying moment for them to focus, but eventually things became clear again. Sharp. Real.

Wren watched them peel off, Cullen and Josephine and Cassandra, and she suppressed the urge to shake her head in their wake.

"There is another matter," Leliana said. "Are you back with us now?"

Her look was not unkind, but still, Wren ducked her head. "Ah- yes," she said. "I'm sorry."

Leliana smiled.

"Do not worry," she said. "The arguments can be a bit repetitive, no? But there is something else."

Leliana took a few more steps away from the war room, and Wren followed.

"Several months ago," she said, "the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished."

Wren looked over to meet Leliana's gaze. _The Wardens? But..._

"I was friends with a Ferelden Warden," Wren said. "We travelled together. I last saw her a few months before the Conclave."

"Did she say where she was going?" Leliana asked quickly.

Wren shook her head. "No," she said. "It was sudden, and strange. I thought it might have been the Calling, but I hoped... she was so afraid of that. I hoped it was something else."

Leliana sighed. "I have not been able to find out anything. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared."

Wren frowned. "That's a bit much to chalk up to the Calling," she said. "They can't all be hearing it at once, surely?"

"It is extremely unlikely. Ordinarily I wouldn't even consider the idea that they would be involved in all this, but the timing is… curious," Leliana said. "I have friends in the Wardens myself, but one of them is entirely out of contact and the other seems fine."

"I don't like it," Wren said. "Your friend that's fine - do they know anything?"

"He has not said so, though I would not put it past him to lie if he thought there was need," Leliana said with a small frown.

Wren hummed a wary acknowledgment.

"The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it," Leliana said. "It seems you understand my concern, so perhaps you will also appreciate my request. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall."

"Blackwall," Wren repeated.

"Yes. If you have the opportunity, please, seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease - _our_ minds at ease."

"I will," Wren said. "Hopefully someone at the crossroads will know where to look."

"Did your friend tell you much about the Wardens, Herald?" Leliana asked.

"She told me what she felt she could," Wren said. "I know they're tied to the Blight in some way. I know they're the only ones that can kill an archdemon."

Leliana nodded.

"Livia would talk about the Calling when she'd had a bit too much wine. She was afraid it would come for her before she was ready," Wren said. "But she never said anything about starting to hear it. Maybe she didn't want to upset me."

"The Wardens are a secretive order," Leliana said. "She must have trusted you to tell you even that much."

"We were good friends," Wren said. "I think we were tied in the ‘who saved whose life' tally before she disappeared. She was amazing with a sword."

Wren smiled, then shook her head.

"I can make inquiries, if you'd like," Leliana said. "Try to find her."

"I- I'll think about it," Wren said. "If it was the Calling… maybe it would be best not to know."

"Simply say the word, Herald," Leliana said.

Wren nodded slowly.

"I'll go find this Blackwall," Wren said. "First thing. Maybe he'll have answers."

 

* * *

 

"The Herald will leave for the Hinterlands in two days," Leliana said.

Cullen looked up from the war table as the Spymaster entered the room.

"So quickly?" he asked. "They've been back barely a week."

"It seems our Herald is not content to sit idle. She will be checking on something for me, and I believe she mentioned tracking down the bases of the mage and Templar rebellions," Leliana said. "You sent our forces out to construct the watchtowers Master Dennett requested?"

"Yes," Cullen said. "Work should begin shortly. With luck, the Herald should be able to convince the horsemaster soon."

"Good," Leliana said. She walked over and looked over the map. "There is still much to do," she said.

"The situation in Orlais didn't help matters," Cullen said.

"We learned much, despite the complications," Leliana said. "The invitation from Madame de Fer alone!"

Cullen frowned. "If you say so," he said. "Orlesian parties are not my area of expertise."

"Or the Herald's," Leliana said. "You remember the report on her."

"She's from Ostwick, in the Free Marches," he remembered. He dug out the paper from the stacks around him, then skimmed it again quickly. "'It is suggested that no contact be made to the Trevelyans, as they disowned her ten years ago'," he read. He frowned. "Disowned. That still surprises me."

"It is not a common practice, but it does still happen," Leliana said. "They already have heirs secured, so the loss of a youngest child may have been deemed acceptable."

Cullen shook his head. "I can't imagine it."

"Not everyone comes from a family like yours, Commander," Leliana said. "Even minor nobility can be quite mercenary in their affections."

He frowned, then continued reading. "She was employed as a caravan guard until the Conclave."

"Yes," Leliana confirmed. "We traced reports over that entire time period. Her reputation was good, though we may want to keep it somewhat quiet. It seems she worked for the Carta regularly for the first few years."

"The Carta." He looked up at Leliana.

She nodded. "It's good work for a caravan guard. They pay well if you keep your mouth closed and your loyalties clear."

Cullen frowned and went back to the page.

"By all accounts, she left the Free Marches shortly before she was disowned, and has never returned," Leliana said. "You'll notice nothing in there about Orlesian court experience."

"True enough," he said. "Still, there's very little here. Do we know nothing more?"

"That is what I can report at this time," Leliana said. "If you wish to know more, you may choose to speak to the Herald yourself. She is really quite pleasant, Commander. I do not believe you would be in any danger if you tried."

Cullen looked up. Leliana's eyes hinted at a joke her face was carefully not telling.

"Thank you," he said. "I may."

 

* * *

 

"Can't believe we're out here looking for a Warden," Varric said. "You said Leliana told you to find him?"

"Yes," Wren said. "It really isn't out of the way, Varric. This is the same route we'd have to take to reach the Templar stronghold, if all the information we collected last time is correct."

"I suppose," Varric said. "But fair warning, Birdy - Wardens are always trouble."

"I'll take it under advisement," Wren said, "but really, you should tell that to Leliana. This was her idea. Come on, I think I hear fighting."

They cleared the hill and Wren pointed.

"There," Wren said. "If Giles is right, that should be the Warden."

"Let's hope he knows something," Varric said. "All this hiking is bad for the knees."

Wren chuckled. "You can wait here if you want," she said.

"No, no," Varric said. "What would you do without me? We left Cassandra behind, after all. You're one fighter down."

They drew closer to the group by the water - three young men and one older one. The older man was giving commands, tweaking form and scowling.

"Remember how to carry your shields. You're not hiding, you're holding. Otherwise, they're useless," he said marching down the line.

He had the bearing of a soldier, and more than that, a leader. Perhaps before he'd been recruited, he'd been in the army. Someone with rank.

"Are you Warden Blackwall?" Wren called.

The reaction was immediate. He stiffened, and turned defensively toward her. Whoever he was expecting, it wasn't her - that much was clear in the set of his jaw as he marched over.

"Who sent you?" he demanded. "How do you know my name?"

"I-"

The hair on the back of Wren's neck stood up as her instincts hissed a warning. _Someone's coming._ It seemed the Warden had the same thought - he raised his arm quickly, blocking them both with his shield. Seconds later, a loud crash reverberated down his arm as an arrow bit into the shield, inches from Wren's head.

"Help or get out," the Warden growled. They looked at each other for a quick moment, barely more than a second, and Wren nodded.

She pulled her daggers and dropped into stealth.

She kept an eye on the field as she slipped through toward the archers. She listened to the Warden shouting commands, directing the recruits to direct the attackers toward him.

"You're dead, bastard! Dead!" one of the bandits yelled.

Wren took out one, then two of the archers, listening to the whistle of Varric's bolts taking out the third. The bandits kept yelling at the Warden, mostly threats which he kept deflecting. _This attack seems personal,_ she thought. _How odd that they would so hate the Wardens._

She wiped off her daggers as the Warden cut down the last melee fighter. He shoved the man off his sword, then dropped the blade and walked over to crouch by the bandit leader's body.

"Sorry bastards," he said.

He shook his head, then turned away and stood again.

"Good work, conscripts," he said. "This shouldn't have happened. They could have- well. Thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole and go back to your families. You've saved yourselves."

The farmers thanked him, then set about searching the bodies. Wren sidestepped them with a polite nod.

"Thank you for your help, miss," one of the farmers said. "Are you a Warden as well?"

"I'm not," Wren said, "but you're welcome."

"Not a Warden," Blackwall said, turning to Wren, "and not a farmer. Who are you?"

"A humble agent of the Inquisition only," Wren said. "I was sent to find Warden Blackwall."

"You found him," he said. He crossed his arms and scowled. "Why were you looking for me?"

"We're looking into a possible connection between the disappearance of the Wardens and the death of the Divine," Wren said.

Blackwall jerked away. "Maker's balls," he said. "The Wardens and the Divine? That can't-" He shook his head. "No," he said. "You don't know, or you wouldn't be asking."

"That's generally the point of asking," Varric muttered.

"First off," he said, "I didn't know they'd disappeared. But we do that, right? No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten." He shook his head bitterly. "But one thing I'll tell you, Inquisition, no Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose is not political."

"As if that's ever stopped them before," Varric muttered.

"I'm not here to accuse the Wardens of anything," Wren said quickly. "Whatever attacked the Divine might also be attacking the Wardens. You're the only Warden we've been able to track down. Do you know where any others are?"

"No," Blackwall said. "I rarely see other Wardens. I travel alone, recruiting."

"Ah," Wren said. "I see." _Odd._

"There isn't much interest," he said, "with the archdemon a decade dead. No need to conscript with no Blight coming, either. Still, I try to fill the ranks. No telling when we'll be needed."

"What was the story with those men?" Wren asked.

"Which?" Blackwall asked. "The bandits? Idiots. They forced this fight, so I 'conscripted' their victims. Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, and who we need, so they followed. They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time, they won't need me."

Blackwall looked away.

"Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are," he said.

Wren looked over at Varric, who rolled his eyes. She coughed to hide her smile, drawing Blackwall's attention again.

"I will take what you said under advisement," she rushed to say. "Do you have any idea where the others might have gone?"

"Perhaps they've been withdrawn to Weisshaupt, in the Anderfels," he said. "I've received no word."

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her sharply. Wren sighed.

"I will let them know back in Haven," Wren said. "I was hoping- well. It hardly matters. Best of luck to you, Warden Blackwall."

She turned away and walked toward Varric and Solas.

"Wait," Blackwall said quickly.

Wren paused, looking over her shoulder. "Hmm?"

"Inquisition, did you say? Hold a moment," he said, walking quickly after her. "The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. And no matter what you say, people _will_ think we're involved, if we're gone. If you're trying to set things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me."

Wren looked at him critically. An older man, heavy with muscle, clearly skilled with a sword, capable of leadership - if nothing else, he was a recruit that the Commander would welcome into the ranks. Josephine would be pleased to have a connection to the Wardens, and Leliana would likely rather interview the man herself than deal with Wren's thin information.

Varric sighed.

"Perhaps we do, ser Blackwall," Wren said. "I'm certain the Inquisition will be pleased to have you."

"Here we go," Varric grumbled.  
 

* * *

  
They returned from the Hinterlands none the worse for wear, despite having cleared out the Templar and mage encampments. Wren gave the credit to their new ally, who was already situated at the forge.

"He was named properly," Wren said. "When he plants himself behind his shield, he never moves. He's like a mobile siege weapon."

"That's good," Leliana said, nodding her approval. "This is a better result than I was expecting. I will speak to him myself this evening."

"The red handkerchief messages," Josephine said. "They indicated a meeting in Orlais next week. Are you planning on attending?"

Wren nodded. "I'm leaving tomorrow," she said.

Cassandra caught Wren's eye. "My work here is done," Cassandra said. "I am again available, should you require assistance."

"You may wish to consider also attending the party being given by Madame de Fer," Josephine said. "It is an honor to be invited, and attending would increase the Inquisition's influence greatly."

"When is it?" Wren asked.

"Two days after the your previous meeting, Herald."

Reluctance was ribboned through her voice and written in the way her shoulders tensed. "I suppose I should, then," she said.

Leliana looked over at Cullen. Her mouth twitched in an effort not to smile.

"On my way in," Wren said, "I met someone, a representative of the Bull's Chargers. Have you heard of them?"

"No," Leliana said. "Who are they? What do they want?"

"They're a mercenary company out of Orlais," Wren said. "Their leader, The Iron Bull, is interested in working for us."

"How interesting," Josephine said. "Do mercenaries generally solicit for clients this way?"

"Some do," Wren said, "I've never heard of the Bull's Chargers doing so. They're expensive, but I've rarely heard any complaints about them. They're usually in high demand."

"And they want to work for us," Leliana said.

"It seems so," Wren said. "The man I spoke with invited us to come see their work on the Storm Coast."

"We'll have to scout a route," Leliana said. "Shall I send a team, then?"

She looked at Wren, who nodded.

"Good. I will have people looking into this Iron Bull and his Chargers as well," Leliana said.

"I have a good feeling about the one that I spoke with," Wren said. "I'm looking forward to seeing them in action."

She hummed half under her breath as she looked at the table. Leliana took notes, casting a sharp eye back to the map when Wren reached across the table and picked up one of Josephine's markers.

Wren held it in her hand for a long moment before swapping it for a plain marker on the map. That point had been a debate the last time they'd been at the table - it marked a debate over how to make money for the Inquisition. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine had very different ideas, and at no point did they come to a conclusion.

Wren had promised to think it over and make a decision when she returned. This satisfied no one, but faced with Cassandra's ire, they all agreed to wait.

Now the choice was made, and Josephine smiled brilliantly. "Right away, Herald," Josephine said. "You will not regret this."

Wren smiled at her in return, a bit hesitantly, but the gesture made Josephine even more pleased.

"Any other ideas?" Leliana asked.

Wren looked at the map again, then shook her head.

"Not just now," she said. She brushed her hands off and backed away from the table. "I'm doing to go steal a pastry from the kitchens," Wren said. "If you need me again I'll be at the forge."

"Is there nothing you'd like the forces to do?" Cullen asked.

Wren paused.

"Will they steal pastries for me?" she asked.

"Some of them likely would," Cullen said.

Wren ducked her head to hide a smile. "It's probably best they don't," she said. "Thank you, though."

She left the war room with a quick bow.

"You made her smile! Good work, Commander," Leliana said.

"What? I- I wasn't-" he stammered.

"It was kind," Josephine said. "She is so nervous around us still."

"I was hoping there would be work," Cullen said.

"She liked your ideas regarding the refugees," Leliana said. "Did you not see her move your marker there at the last meeting?"

"I did," he said. "I'm waiting for word from that operation now."

"I am certain there will be more for you to do as we continue, Commander," Leliana said. "There may come a time when we long for the pace we have now."

"Of course," he said. He shook his head. "I should go see to training."

"And I have to speak to my contacts," Josephine said. "This is quite exciting. I'm pleased to see progress."

"Excellent. We will speak again before the Herald leaves," Leliana said.  
  


* * *

  
"Commander?"

Cullen stopped and turned toward the voice. A mage was standing by the path through Haven, trying to hide behind her own staff.

"Ah, yes?" he asked.

She stood up straighter. "Ser, do you know if someone called Little Bird is among the forces?"

"Little Bird…" He searched his mind quickly. _It sounds familiar- wait. The Herald._

"Yes," he said. "She is. Do you need her for something?"

"If you see her, could you ask her to come to the mage quarter? We wanted-"

The woman looked away anxiously.

"We would feel safer if we could speak to her, ser," she said.

"Of course. I will let her know," Cullen said. The mage bobbed her head in a quick bow, then retreated toward the cluster of cabins that constituted the mage quarters, where apothecary Adan held his shop.

Cullen frowned slightly as he made his way out of Haven. _Safer? Were they in danger here? Though, he supposed given the conflict..._

He turned toward the field.

His pace faltered as he spotted the Herald, curled up on a crate by the tents, pastry in hand. She tore the purloined treat into pieces, eating each section as tidily as she could. It was nearly gone already; she must have come directly here from the kitchens.

As he drew closer, she caught sight of him and gave him a very careful smile. When he was close enough, she held out a piece of the pastry in offering. "Commander. Would you like some?" she asked.

"Ah- no, thank you Herald," he said.

Wren nodded. The smell of cinnamon filled the air as she tore the section she'd offered into smaller pieces and ate them, turning her attention back to the field.

He'd seen her here before, though he'd never been able to take the time to speak with her. Whenever they were in town, the Herald would come to watch the troops at work. Sometimes Lysette would come speak with her; he'd seen Rylen make the effort as well. Even some of the soldiers had been known to step closer to speak with her as they cycled on and off the field in shifts.

He wondered what they'd said. Perhaps knowing that would give him something to say now, instead of standing here with his tongue like lead.

_I am the Commander of the forces, not an awkward teenager. I can talk to my colleagues without forgetting my own tongue. What is wrong with me?_

"The, ah, men are doing well," he said.

_Very smooth. Good job, Cullen. Maker. I was going to talk to her about something, wasn't I? Something interrupted me on the way here…_

"Yes," Wren said. She finished the treat and brushed her hands off on her breeches.

He swore he could feel it when her attention shifted to him. When he looked over, she tilted her head as if she were trying to decide something.

"Have you ever read ‘The Adventures of the Black Fox'?" she asked.

"I don't know," Cullen said, thrown off by the question. "What is it about?"

"Lord Remi Vascal," Wren said. "Notorious rogue and scoundrel. They called him _'the Black Fox',_ hence the title."

"I must have heard stories, but it was too long ago," Cullen said. "I don't think I ever read the book."

Wren shook her head. "That's a shame," she said. "It was very good, as collections of legends go."

She looked back at the field. "I was just thinking-" She paused. "I'll be right back."

He watched her hop off the crate and head back to the town gates.

_The mage recruits! I was going to-_

He cursed under his breath. _Perhaps I need more sleep. The headaches have been difficult lately._

The crunch of boots on snow distracted him from his thoughts. "Ser," Rylen said. "We have word of more Templar recruits incoming, these ones from Val Royeaux."

"Val Royeaux? How many?" Cullen asked.

"Three, ser," Rylen said. "From Ostwick, newly transferred south. So says the scout that they met on the road, at least."

"I will be interested to hear what they have to say about the events in Orlais," Cullen said. "Cassandra's report did not paint a rosy picture."

"We should see them in another week, barring any problems," Rylen said. "I'll be glad to see more experienced fighters among the ranks."

"And I as well," Cullen said. "It will be a relief."

"Speaking of, I should return to the field. I believe Harrison has promise. I want to keep an eye on him," Rylen said.

"I agree with you," Cullen said. "I will be out in a moment myself."

"Very good, ser."

Cullen watched his second-in-command take to the field. Rylen had just begun to speak with one of the recruits when a new set of footfalls drew Cullen's attention.

"Here," Wren said. Cullen turned to watch her take the last few strides over to his side. She pulled a book from under her arm and held it out to him. It was worn, with black leather covers that showed signs of a hard life lived. The gold lettering on the cover and spine was chipped, but enough letters still remained to make it decipherable - " _The Adventures of the Black Fox_ ".

"I think you would like it," Wren said.

He took it, holding it carefully. "Is this your book?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Yes," she said. "Don't let anyone stab it, please. I'll be quite put out."

He ran his gloved thumb over the cover. The edges of the pages had once been gilded, but were dulled with age and evident re-readings.

"I couldn't take your copy, Herald," he said.

"Too late. You have it now," Wren said. "You may as well hold onto it. I couldn't give the troops new work, but perhaps this will distract you. You should give your mind something to do besides work on battle formations anyway, Commander. It will do you good."

"Have you been talking to Varric?" Cullen asked wryly.

"No more than usual," Wren said. "Why?"

"Varric says I scowl too much, and it's bad for my health," Cullen said.

Wren chuckled. "Then think of this as my way of helping your health," she said. "Please take the book, Commander. I trust you with it."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "I- thank you, Herald. I will look after it."

"Thank you, Commander. I hope you like it."

She took a few steps back, and Cullen looked down at the the book again. He had the strangest urge to hug it to his chest, and he shook his head.

"Oh! Herald," he said.

Wren paused and looked back at him. "Yes?"

"I met someone on the way through Haven. She asked if I knew a 'Little Bird'. That is you, yes?" he asked.

"It is," Wren said carefully.

"She asked if you might stop to see her group," Cullen said. "In the mage quarter, by Adan's cabin."

"Of course," Wren said. "Thank you, Commander."

She bobbed her head in a quick bow, then headed toward the gates.

He watched her leave, and when she disappeared into Haven, he looked back at the book in his hand. He opened it carefully.

" _Property of Wren_ " was painstakingly inked in a child's script on the top right corner of the end paper.

He closed the book and walked away to put it safely in his tent.  
  


* * *

   
Long strides took her up the hill and back to where the mages had made their home in Haven. Solas gave her a solemn nod as she approached.

"Herald," he said.

"Not you too," she sighed.

"Is that not your title? It would be rude of me to ignore it," he said.

"It would be _kind_ of you to ignore it," she said. "Do you know who asked for Little Bird?"

"I am afraid not. I do not speak often with your mages," he said.

"Oh?"

"We do not have much in common," he said. "Perhaps try the nervous woman by the apothecary."

Wren looked around, and spied a young woman indeed, looking nervous by the corner of the building. Wren tried to make her face as reassuring and pleasant as possible as she approached the woman.

"Hello," Wren said. "I'm Little Bird. Do you know who asked for me?"

"But- you're the Herald!" the woman said. "You can't be Little Bird."

"I was Little Bird long before they gave me that title," Wren said. "Was it you, then?"

"It was," the woman said. "I heard about you from some of the other mages. They told me about how you get mages out of bad places. That you'll escort us in hiding."

"That's true," Wren said. "Do you need to get out?"

"Not yet," the woman said. "Maybe not, but if you're the Herald now, can you even help anymore?"

"I seem to do an awful lot of travelling these days," Wren said. "If you need help, I can figure something out. Pass you off as a scout, maybe." Wren looked at the woman with concern. "Are you in danger? Are the mages being badly treated?"

"Not yet," the woman said again. "But there are Templars here, more all the time, and we're living here in the shadow of the Chantry. That has never been a good position to be in when you're a mage."

Wren nodded. "I feel the same way," she said. "Not quite for the same reasons. If you need to get out, I will do my best to get you out. My bond still stands, no matter what they're calling me now."

"If you're here… perhaps we'll be safe," the woman said. "Adan trusts you, and the prickly woman in the Chantry, and that spooky elf. I'll try to trust you as well."  
 

* * *

  
The evening was long, and as the pain built it stretched ever longer.

Cullen felt like every bone in his body was sore, a dull throb that made his usual cure of taking a long walk hardly worth trying. He laid out on the cot, staring up at the flickers of light on the tent ceiling. His temperature was high, but he still felt cold. If he could just distract himself - ah. The Herald had given him a book earlier. He could read, perhaps. There was still enough light from the lanterns for that.

With slow, careful movements he got up and fetched the book from where he'd hidden it that afternoon. He settled back down just as carefully, feeling his body protest every shift. He laid there breathing slowly a moment before he propped the book on his chest and opened it.

Inside the front cover, small fingerprints marked the edges of the paper. A piece of folded paper slid down, and Cullen picked it up. He hesitated, then unfolded it. A violet was pressed between the two halves of the paper, with a date - only a few years ago - written neatly in the corner of the page.

He folded it back up and held the paper against the inside cover with his thumb.

The top corner of the inside cover had similar handwriting on it, though much more childish in its form. "Property of Wren" was there in black ink. A last name had been written at the end, but had been cut from the corner of the page.

_Curious._

He turned the page. _The Adventures of the Black Fox - Being the Story of Lord Remi Vascal and his Companions._ The gilt edges of the pages were tarnished and worn. The book felt good in his hands, he thought. Comforting.

He turned the page again and began to read.


	6. Chapter 6

"You glow. You're the Herald thingie."

"What?" Wren asked.

"You glow," the girl insisted. "Look, we can talk about it later, yeah? Name's Sera. This is cover, get 'round it."

Wren quickly ducked to the indicated side of the barrels, then looked over at Sera and raised an eyebrow.

"For the reinforcements," Sera said. "Don't worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed. They've got no breeches!"

Before Wren could think of anything to say to that, men rushed out from doors around the courtyard. To a one, they were all in their smalls - indeed, with no breeches.

Sera cackled, then drew again and let arrows fly. "Right in the plums!" she whooped.

Wren dropped into stealth and joined the fray. She couldn't quite resist sending a few of the men running by slicing the side of their smalls and leaving them half naked on the field. They would inevitably run, dropping their weapons and disappearing out a side door before Sera could peg them with more arrows. Wren didn't want to spend time killing underlings if she could avoid it, and more men left alive meant a better story being told later.

When the rest of the men lay dead, Wren joined Sera again.

"Nice work with the naked ones," Sera said.

"Thanks. Who was that, at the beginning?" Wren asked.

Sera shrugged. "No idea. I don't know that idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him." She grinned, a huge enthusiastic smile. "Really came through with that tip, too. No breeches!"

"Your people," Wren said. She shifted her weight to one side, slightly blocking Cassandra's very skeptical look at Sera.

"My _friends_. I hear you know," Sera said. "Heard you had our back a few times. Moved some people."

"Possibly," Wren said. She pretended to wipe some blood off her face, and gave Sera a quick hand signal, hidden from the others. Sera tilted her chin up and grinned.

"What are you talking about?" Cassandra asked, moving over for a better view again. Wren dropped her hand down and flicked blood onto the tiles.

"It's like this," Sera said. "I sent you a note to look for stuff hidden by my friends. The Friends of Red Jenny. That's me, too. Well, I'm one. So's a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall. There were three in Starkhaven, brothers or something."

"I do not understand. Who are these 'friends'?" Cassandra asked. "Who is this 'Jenny'?"

"It's just a _name_ , yeah?" Sera said. "The name lets little people, 'friends', be part of something, while they stick it to nobles they hate."

"And you are one of these 'friends'?" Cassandra asked, looking at Wren. "This does not seem to surprise you."

"No," Wren said. "But I know about them."

"Look, here, in your face, I'm Sera," Sera said impatiently. "The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there, everywhere. I used them to help you. Plus arrows."

"Why have the Jennies taken an interest in the Inquisition?" Wren asked.

" _They_ haven't, _I_ have. Well, I suppose some of them have. New power being thrown around, new butts on new thrones, draws attention, yeah? But me, I sent you the notes because I want in," Sera said. "You need people, right? Well, I'm people."

"I don't know if-" Cassandra said.

"Didn't ask you, did I?" Sera said. "You're important, but you listen to her. She's the Herald. So I'm asking her." She looked back at Wren. "Those 'important' people are up there, shoving their cods around. 'I'll crush you', 'I'll crush you', 'oooh, crush you'. Yeah? _You_ know. Then the tits like this guy, fancying himself a spy-king. All these men, all those secrets, and what gave him up? Some _houseboy_ , who don't know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one."

Wren nodded.

"Look, I just want everything back to normal," Sera said. "I'm good in a fight and I have friends. You gonna let me join or what?"

Cassandra frowned.

"Of course," Wren said. She stuck her hand out. "Shake on it, then."

Sera grabbed Wren's hand and shook it firmly. "It's not just because you glow, you know," she said. "The rest of the tits might not care about us down here, but you're one of us. Just a person. You'll need me, 'cause I won't forget that. I've got your back, yeah?"

Wren smiled, broad and easy. "Yeah," she said.  
  


* * *

   
"I still do not understand this Jenny business," Cassandra said.

"'Wait for me', I said," Varric said. "'I'll be right there', I said. But no, you had to run off, and now we're tangled up with the Friends of Red Jenny."

"You're not," Sera said impatiently. "I am. The Herald doesn't seem to care, don't know why you do."

"I'm from Kirkwall," Varric said. "The Jennies didn't do anything for us there."

"It's not a charity," Sera said. "And we did help, just not all dramatic like you lot."

"There is no need to fight," Cassandra said. "The Herald would be upset to return and find chaos."

"I like her," Sera declared. "She's people."

"We're all people," Varric said.

"Pssh. She's noble," Sera said, pointing a thumb at Cassandra, "and you're a big deal famous person and shite."

"The Herald of Andraste doesn't count as a big deal?" Varric asked. "Oh, and I hate to tell you, but she's also noble."

"Nah," Sera said. "Even if she _was_ noble once, she's just people now. And sure, she's a big deal, but it's not her fault. It's your fault people notice you. You want them to."

"And she doesn't?" Varric said. "She's a tavern singer, her job was being noticed."

"Not the same. Don't know why you're so pushy about this," Sera said.

The door to the room swung open, and a weary Wren walked in. She walked over to the edge of her bed and sat down, then flopped back and looked at the ceiling.

"We have another new member of the Inquisition," Wren said.

"Oh?" Cassandra asked. "Who?"

"Madame de Fer," Wren said.

Cassandra set down her mug. "Are you- how did this happen?"

"She volunteered," Wren said. She sounded quite suddenly overwhelmed. "Have you ever met her? It was impossible not to just agree to her joining up. She probably would have had me murdered if I'd said no. She plans on going to Haven on her own, after she's had time to pack and prepare."

"Who's ' _Madame de Fer_ '?" Sera asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Madame de Fer was the former Court Enchanter of Orlais," Cassandra said.

"So?" Sera asked. "What's the big deal?"

"The _big deal_ is that she is a major political player in Orlais," Cassandra said. "Her interest in the Inquisition is significant. She is also a very powerful mage, and the leader of the Loyalists."

"More fancy tits," Sera said. "Ugh."

"It is-" Cassandra protested.

"-time to get out of Orlais," Wren cut in. "Soon. Now. There's enough day to get started."

"Really, Herald, it would be best to wait for morning," Cassandra said.

"Go ahead," Wren said. "The room is paid up for the night, thanks to Leliana. I'm going to get a head start back to Haven."

"You can't just run off," Cassandra said. "You're the Herald, it isn't safe for you to travel alone."

"I'll go with her," Sera said.

"I do not feel reassured," Cassandra said flatly.

"Aw, hang in there Birdy," Varric said. "Come on. I found a decent bakery just around the corner. We can go for supper. My treat."

Wren looked over at him. After a moment, she nodded. "Okay," she said.  
  


* * *

   
Cullen rubbed the bridge of his nose. A headache was blooming behind his eyes, half blinding him even before the day had started. The Herald and her party were arriving soon. He didn't want to be distracted during the war table meeting, but it seemed his body was working against him on the matter.

It was his own fault. He had been up late the night before, working on paperwork, and then he'd stolen the time to finish another chapter of _The Black Fox_.

He kept finding pieces of the Herald in the book, keepsakes pressed between pages, fingerprints in various sizes, bits of paper with drawings and notes, like pieces to a puzzle.

He shook his head. He wasn't sure what had drawn her to offer the book, but he was grateful. It was a distraction he would not have admitted needing. Perhaps she saw that, or guessed it. Perhaps she was simply being kind.

It was certainly plausible. She'd made a good account of herself with the people in Haven. She always made an effort to return from any outing with materials to help supply the apothecaries and the forge. She was nearly always willing to stop and speak with anyone that called her. He'd been told that on a night or two, she'd even taken out a lute and played for the people at the tavern.

It made him regret never going to the tavern.

"She's good," one of the men had said. "Makes you want to drink more just to keep listening."

Perhaps he would go sometime. He could sit at a table in a corner, go over his reports there. It would be nice to hear her. He could almost picture it, too - the Herald, sitting on the end of the bar, picking out an old song on a lute. The lantern light would make her red hair glow copper and gold in the evening.

He shook his head and finished buckling on his armor. _Enough of that._ They needed to seal the Breach and bring peace to Thedas, and neither of those things would be helped along by his daydreaming.

He stepped out of the tent into the morning light.  
  


* * *

   
Wren leaned back on the crate where she was perched, watching the Commander train the recruits. She didn't generally get involved in the training, but she did like coming to see it, now that she felt safe around the troops. It was a motley crew - raw recruits, some veteran fighters, a fair few Templars - but somehow the Commander and a few lieutenants made them all come together.

She was impressed, not just with the men, but with the Commander. There was no point denying it in the privacy of her own mind. He was smart, and cared about his men, and he was good at his job. If they were to have a chance, they needed someone like him.

If he was easy on the eyes, well, that was just a bonus. A complicating, awkward bonus.

"Pardon me. Are you- you are, aren't you? Wren Trevelyan?"

Wren looked quickly over at the source of the question. A Templar in full plate walked off the field and over toward her with singular purpose. As he drew near, he reached up and lifted his helmet off his head.

A Rivaini man with a very familiar face looked back at her - sparkling dark eyes, a crooked nose, and wide, grinning mouth. Mottled scarring marked his face down his forehead and over his right cheek. _From when he was little,_ Wren remembered. _A magic attack._

Wren's face lit up.

"Wolfson!" she said.

He dropped his helmet in the snow and held his arms out. Wren shoved herself off the crate and ran over. He swept her up, hugging her tight for a moment before holding her out at arm's length to look at her.

"I never thought I would see you again," Wolfson said. "They said you were dead, but I knew you'd never go out so easy. What happened?"

"It's a long story," Wren said. "For later. Are you well?"

"Better now. It's good to see you, Trevelyan. Did you come to join the Inquisition as well?" He let her go and bent to pick up his helmet again.

"In a way, yes," Wren said. They walked over to her crate and she hopped back up. "How did you end up here? I thought you'd be up in Ostwick," she said.

"Something strange is going on out there," Wolfson said with a frown. "I was being transferred to a unit that was stationed in Val Royeaux, but the Lord Seeker pulled the Templars out of Orlais just before I arrived."

"Out of Orlais? I thought they had just left Val Royeaux," Wren said.

"No," he said. He shook his head. "It started there, but then he called for all of us to come to Therinfal. Nobody's been using Therinfal in years. I doubt it could even hold all of us. He's called for every Templar in Orlais and Ferelden."

"That's insane," Wren said. "That is far too many men to be in one place." She shook her head. "With all the troops already called in, why did they transfer you south?"

"Not sure," Wolfson said. "They transferred a lot of us, and I haven't heard from any of the others in a while. It's very strange, Trevelyan."

"I don't like it," Wren said. She nudged him with her toe slightly. "I'm glad you're here, but why didn't you end up at Therinfal with the others?"

"Aw, you know me, Trevelyan, I have a terrible sense of direction," Wolfson said, grinning. He fell a bit more solemn, though, as he said, "I had a friend in Val Royeaux, Ser Barris. He advised us to not go to Therinfal with the rest. He said I should come here instead, look for the Commander, and pledge my arm to the Inquisition. I trust Barris, so that's what I did."

Wren looked around. "Is Barris here, then? I should thank him."

"No, and I had hoped to see him. He told me that he'd seen the Herald and her people at the city center. He said he knew after watching them that he was on the wrong side. He was going to come join when he could," Wolfson said. "Hopefully he'll make it soon."

"They must have made quite the impression," Wren said. "Not much can turn a charging Templar."

"From the way he was talking, the Lord Seeker didn't help matters. He said there was something wrong about the man, something off. It made him question who he was following and why," Wolfson said. "Barris is an idealistic sort. He wants to follow the people that are helping."

"I guess you're a bit idealistic too, if you're here," Wren said. She grinned at him. "I'll feel better being here myself, knowing the troops have you around to hit ‘em when they miss a left block."

"You never were much use with a shield, Trevelyan. So, what are you doing here?" Wolfson asked. "The short version."

"Stabbing people, mostly," Wren said. "I was at the Conclave when it went up. The Inquisition soldiers brought me to Haven, and I've been here since."

"You've always been good at stabbing," Wolfson said. He grinned. "Poor Donaldson never ate in the dining hall again."

"'Poor Donaldson' should have kept his hands to himself," Wren said. "I warned him. I think I was fair."

Wolfson grinned. "I don't disagree."

"Excuse me, Herald?"

Wren looked over. "Lieutenant Harrison?"

Wolfson looked at her in surprise, but the armored man just nodded. "Yes, Herald. Seeker Cassandra wishes to speak with you."

"Of course," Wren said, uncurling from her spot and jumping down. "Right away. Find me later, Wolfson," she said, patting his shoulder as she walked away. "We can have a drink."

Wolfson watched her leave. In disbelief, he called, "Herald?"

Wren turned around and waved, then turned again and kept walking.

Wolfson rubbed his hand through his short hair and shook his head.  
  


* * *

   
"...right under the table," Blackwall said. His eyes crinkled with good humour.

Wren laughed, trying not to lose her balance atop the stone wall. "Truly?"

"No word of a lie, my lady," he said.

"I like, you, Blackwall. You're oddly charming for a man I found wandering the forest," Wren said. She swung her legs, bouncing her heels off the stones.

Blackwall grinned at her.

"I always thought myself more odd than charming, but I'll take a compliment from a lady," he said. "They're hard to come by these days."

"Compliments? Or ladies?" Wren asked.

He laughed. "Both," he said. "Not many of either when you're out in the woods."

"You're just not looking in the right woods," Wren said. "I spent most of the last ten years there, and I would have complimented you any time."

"You're flattering me. Let me guess - something large and heavy you need moved?" he asked, still smiling.

"Not just now, but I'll think of something," she said, "and once I do, I'll remind you that you offered."

Blackwall leaned against the wall next to her and chuckled. "You do that, my lady."

"We're headed out tonight to go to the Storm Coast. I was thinking we could look for those Warden camps you mentioned. Would you like to come along?" Wren asked.

"Yes. I'm eager to see the history recovered, if it's there," he said.

"I like volunteers," Wren said. She grinned. "Thanks, Warden Blackwall."

"Just Blackwall will do, my lady."

"Blackwall, then," she said. "We'll be meeting with a crew of mercenaries while we're at the coast. I'm interested to get your opinion of them when we're there."

"I don't know much about mercenaires," Blackwall said.

"Mmm, but you do know fighters," Wren said. "I trust your eye."

"I will do my best," he said, "but you're not so bad yourself when it comes to judging the men."

"What _have_ people been saying about me? I wonder," Wren said.

His face flushed under his beard. "I didn't mean anything by it, my lady."

Wren winked. "I didn't say you were wrong," she said. "I'll see you later, Blackwall."  
  


* * *

   
Skirting around the edges of Haven, Wren made her way to the tents in front of the Chantry. She stopped at the open front of a small tent and tapped on the post.

"May I speak with you, Leliana?" Wren asked.

Leliana looked up from her table, then leaned away and crossed her arms. "Come to contradict my orders again, Herald?" Leliana asked.

"No," Wren said, "and you're just cross that I'm right about his information being worth more than his death."

"I am not _cross_ ," Leliana said. "But regardless, it is done. The traitor lives. Now, how can I help you, Herald?"

"I met someone today," Wren said. "A Templar recruit, in from Val Royeaux."

"We were told to expect a number of them," Leliana said. "A side effect of your trip there. Is there a problem with this particular recruit?"

"No, not as such," Wren said. "I was happy to see him again."

Leliana looked up at Wren more seriously.

"He transferred south, from Ostwick, just before arriving in Val Royeaux," Wren said.

"I see. Let us… go for a walk, Herald."

The two of them left the tent, talking about inconsequential things until they could duck unseen into the tree line and beyond.

"How well did he know you?" Leliana asked.

"We roomed together," Wren said. "We shared a set of bunks right from when he first joined up."

"Then he knows you well," Leliana said.

"Very," Wren said. "We were best friends, until the Chantry Mothers pulled me from the barracks. We didn't get to see one another much after that."

"Was there a problem?" Leliana asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Wren said. "The Mothers just noticed that 'womanhood had come calling', and were firm in their opinion that I should be housed away from the boys."

"Ah. I see," Leliana said.

"He was never shy when I knew him," Wren said. "He wasn't a particular gossip, but 'I grew up with her' isn't the sort of thing he'd think to keep secret."

Leliana nodded. "I appreciate you coming to me," she said. "I will have to give the others a secondary report now, before he begins talking about your shared past." She looked genuinely regretful for a moment. "I am sorry, Herald."

"It would have happened eventually," Wren said. "Better now than when it might have undermined us." She sighed. "I won't be around to help with any aftermath in the war room. We have to leave tonight if we want to meet up with the Bull's Chargers. They won't be at the Storm Coast forever."

"Who are you bringing with you?" Leliana asked.

"Cassandra, Sera, and Blackwall," Wren said. "Blackwall wants to look for Warden relics on the Coast. Apparently there are some abandoned camps out there."

"Hmm." Leliana's mouth drew tight. "Be careful."

"I will," Wren said.

"Perhaps next time we can plan a civilized meeting rather than have to run off into the woods to freeze," Leliana said, a small smile replacing her previous grim expression. "Somewhere private, but warmer, and with drinks."

"I'd like that," Wren said.

"Thank you for bringing this to me, Herald," Leliana said. "Perhaps I _was_ a bit cross before."

Wren smiled.  
  


* * *

   
 _Maker preserve me._

Cullen sat down at his borrowed desk and stared unseeing at the pages in front of him.

The Herald had come to see him before she'd left. Fingers twined together behind her back, she'd asked him for his thoughts on the Inquisition. He'd been thinking so much about that very thing lately, about their position as an organization that could help heal the world. Help heal him, too, though he hadn't said as much. Still, he'd gone on for some time about the Inquisition and the possibilities of it all. What it meant. What it _could_ mean.

She'd walked beside him as he paced, her dark eyes serious and solemn. She didn't interrupt or contradict, didn't seem skeptical or call him idealistic. She just listened - really listened. It had been far too easy to get carried away, nudged on by her occasional questions. When he'd finally caught himself, he'd been rueful.

"Forgive me," he said. "You didn't come here for a lecture."

There was a glint of humour in her eyes. "No, but if you have one prepared, I'd love to hear it," she said.

He chuckled. "Perhaps another time," he said. "I'll need to practice a bit more first."

"I look forward to hearing it," she said. She winked. "Maybe you can draw me some pictures, too."

It hit him, then - _Maker, she's flirting with me!_ He tried to smooth over his flustered reaction, but suspected she wasn't fooled any more than he was by his efforts. He couldn't stop fidgeting, antsy as a teenager in the face of a crush.

Then she'd asked him about his Templar training, Maker take her. Little questions about his childhood, how he came to train, why. About what it meant to be a Templar. What it entailed.

If there were _vows_.

He'd wanted to sink into the snow. With how hot he'd gone with embarrassment, he thought it was a miracle he hadn't done just that. But despite the subject matter - _Maker_ \- she'd seemed really interested. As if she wanted to know him. Teasing or not, she seemed to understand, even when he floundered.

Alone in the safety of his tent, he could admit to himself that he'd been admiring her over the war table from the start. There was something about her - something sharp, something fine, like an expertly crafted blade. She caught the light around her, shining it into the shadows, bringing people in - and he was no less drawn.

It was easier to ignore the attraction in those first few weeks, when she was here and then gone, never at camp, rarely in his periphery. But lately she was always here, watching the troops, curled up on the armor crates, holding quiet counsel with Lisette or Rylen. She was at the meetings in the war room, listening, questioning, moving pieces around with quick fingers.

She sought him out, offering a book, a smile, a brief conversation.

She asked him about his bloody _vows_.

 _It was nothing_ , he told himself. _She talks with everyone. Maybe she wasn't even flirting this afternoon. Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe she was just teasing._

He shook his head and set aside Leliana's new report on the Herald. He couldn't read about her right now, not while he was trying to stop thinking about her in the first place.

_Get a grip on yourself, Rutherford._

He rubbed a hand over his face.

 _Maker._ This was… not good.


	7. Chapter 7

The second day of riding was blissfully clear of rain, and not so cold that it invited everyone to stay burrowed inside their cloaks. It was almost like a friendly afternoon ride that Wren, Blackwall, Sera, and Cassandra happened to be upon… with an entire team of scouts and enough supplies to restock the camps.

Even not on foot, Wren kept slightly ahead, watching the road, alert to signs of change, minding the maps in her head that told her where to go. The scouts technically did that job, a fact Cassandra reminded Wren about periodically, but habit kept Wren in her old patterns. She felt safer in the lead. Better.

Even so, the day was nice, and the company was pleasant, so for once Wren rode near the others.

"You might have mentioned that you're the Herald," Blackwall said.

"Hmm?" Wren asked.

"You said you were an ‘agent of the Inquisition' when we met," Blackwall said. "Bit of a shock to find out you were the Herald of Andraste."

"I don't know that I _am_ the Herald," Wren said. "But I know I'm an agent of the Inquisition. Seemed better to be honest."

"The people at Haven seem fairly certain that you are," Blackwall said.

Wren sighed. "The people in Haven… they've been through a lot. They need something to believe in, and some of them think that's me. But I'm just a person," she said. "No more or less than I was before."

"Good luck convincing them of that," Blackwall said.

"Why were you mucking about with the mages and Templars in the first place?" Sera asked. "At that Conclave thing, I mean, not now."

"I was working as an escort for a group of mages," Wren said. "The job was to bring them to the temple, and then lead them somewhere safe after. There were loads of people like me there. Staff, servants, mercenaries… we were all outside, away from all the important people. Probably why I survived, really."

"Don't you remember yet? That's weird," Sera said.

Wren frowned. "I know," she said. "My memory isn't usually so unreliable."

"Herald. May I ask you something?" Cassandra asked.

Wren looked over at Cassandra. "Sure," she said.

"The new report... it says you were going to be a Templar," Cassandra said. "Is that true?"

"What?" Sera asked. "No. Really?"

"Mmm," Wren said. She nodded. "I was given to the Order to reinforce my family's ties to the Chantry."

"But didn't I hear you asking Commander Cullen about the Templars?" Sera asked.

"Eavesdropping, Sera?" Cassandra asked.

"'s not snooping when you're not sneaking," Sera said. "They were in the middle of a field, not shut up in a secret room."

"Mmmhmm," Wren said. "I wanted to draw him out, ask him questions I knew he could answer. Easy things, to get him talking. We have to work together. It'd be easier if we got along." She paused. "I also wanted to ask him some things before he could read that second report on me," she added. "I'd never get away with it after that."

"Weird that they keep reporting on you. Why don't people just ask you things? You're not scary or something," Sera said.

Wren shrugged. Sera looked over at Cassandra pointedly.

"Ah, well," Cassandra said, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle. "We are placing a good deal of trust in the Herald, and none of us knew her before. It was important to have information, so we knew how to… manage the situation."

"And now you know her. Could still just ask. You didn't know any of us before," Sera said. "That mean there are reports on everyone? On me?"

"Not extensive ones, but certainly the basics," Cassandra said. "Your name, where you came from, anything Leliana could find out. We cannot take chances, Sera. There is too much at stake."

"Don't like it," Sera said, "I'm gonna see mine, find out what she's saying about me."

"I don't think-"

"Didn't ask," Sera said. She turned back to Wren. "What couldn't you ask him after the report?"

"Any of the Templar stuff. If he knew I had been raised there he would just assume we felt the same way about it, and I'd never get to find out what he actually thinks - or at least what he'd tell an outsider," Wren said.

She paused a moment, then added, "I might have gotten a little carried away, though."

Sera rode up slightly closer. "Oh?" she asked.

"Well…" Wren's voice trailed off, and then a self-conscious little grin crept into her expression. "I asked about Templar vows," Wren said.

"Do they take vows?" Blackwall asked.

"Loads of them," Wren said. "It's a religious order, so there's vows of service, vows of loyalty, vows to uphold the Maker's light, that sort of thing. There's a whole vigil upon joining the order, where you spend all night reflecting on your duty and sacrifices. Very dramatic." Her expression flatlined. "Then they start you on lyrium so you won't cross them."

"Is that really what it's for?" Sera asked. "I thought it just did…" She wiggled her fingers. "Magic stuff."

"It does that too, but half the point of the lyrium is that you get addicted to it and they control it," Wren said. "If you step out of line, they can cut you off and make you suffer until you do what they want."

Sera looked over at Cassandra accusingly. "Is that true?" she asked.

Cassandra looked conflicted. "It is more complicated than that," she said.

"That isn't a no," Sera said.

"What did you ask him about the vows?" Blackwall asked quickly.

A guilty little smile tweaked Wren's solemn face. "Ah, well…" she said, then paused.

"Go on then," Sera said, willing to be distracted from starting an argument with Cassandra. "This must be good."

Wren schooled her face into perfect innocence. "I asked if Templars have to take vows of chastity," she said.

Sera snorted. "Do they?" she asked. "They can't have to, I've heard things."

"No," Wren said, grinning again. "They don't. Some very devout ones do it anyway, but most Templars don't even think about it. It's considered pretty outdated. Not even Chantry Sisters and Brothers take those vows these days. Or, as he put it -" Wren drew herself up into a physical imitation of the Commander, then rubbed the back of her neck. "-'It's, um, not required'."

"I wonder if he did anyway. He's buttoned up enough," Sera said.

"Oh, I asked," Wren said.

"You _asked_?" Cassandra said.

"I did," Wren said. She put on her Cullen impression again. "Me? I, um, er, no! No, I've taken no such vows," Wren said. Judging from her impression, the Commander had nearly turned himself inside out trying to avoid the subject.

Sera laughed out loud.

"You shouldn't tease the Commander so," Cassandra said, though her heart was clearly not in the chiding. "He is a good man, and he is doing his best."

"I wasn't trying to be unkind," Wren said. "When he asked to change the subject, I did. Besides, a little teasing could be good for him. You can't be serious all the time or you'll explode."

"He's a big boy," Blackwall said. "I'm sure he can defend himself, Seeker."

"And I'm just a small time mercenary," Wren said. "He's a big deal military commander. That's like a crow pulling a lion's tail."

"Perhaps," Cassandra said, "if that crow was also the Herald of Andraste."

"I'm only that until we close the Breach," Wren said. "Then I'll go back to being plain old me again, guarding caravans for whoever has coin enough." She made a face. "Though this kind of notoriety is going to make finding proper work difficult, at least until people forget."

"It puts you in a good sleeper spot to be a Jenny," Sera said. "We could find stuff for you."

"Hmm. I'm not opposed, " Wren said. "Just let me know. I can start shoving frogs in Orlesian cabinets or something."

"Is that, what, a euphemism? Doesn't matter. It's a good idea," Sera said. "I like it. I'll talk to some people."

Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, "Andraste save us."  
  


* * *

   
Cullen read the same five lines at least three times before he set down the report and braced his head with his hands. He barely noticed when Leliana walked in, lifting his head only just in time to see her before she spoke.

"Trouble, Commander?" Leliana asked.

"No, I… er. No," he said.

Leliana looked down at the papers in front of him. "The report on the Herald?" she said. "Did you not read this before now?"

"No. I was busy with other things," Cullen said.

"It makes for interesting reading," Leliana said, picking up the report. "All the things from the last report, of course. Wren Elselein Marcelette Trevelyan, twenty seven years old, the fourth and youngest child of Bann Trevelyan." She began to pace back and forth, still reading aloud. "She was given to the Templar order officially at birth, though she was retained at home under the care of a wet nurse until the age of five. She was at that point sent to train at the Chantry grounds in Ostwick."

_Do Templars take vows?_

Cullen shook his head. "That is as far as I read," he said.

"You are missing the best parts!" Leliana said. "She was a student there right through until her vigil. She went into the Chantry with the others in her year, and then never emerged. By the time anyone knew she was gone, she was too far ahead to be caught. A conflict arose between the Ostwick Templars and the Trevelyans as a result, and this is when she was disowned and disinherited from the Trevelyan line."

_Is it true what they say, though? That Templars have to… give up things?_

"According to my aggregated reports, she joins up with a caravan escort operation in Ferelden later that same year, using the name Little Bird," Leliana said. She put the papers back on the desk in front of Cullen. "She was second in command under a man called 'The Baron'. They ran caravans together back and forth across Ferelden for several years. Eventually he falls out of the records, and she continues up to present day."

Leliana leaned against a wall and watched Cullen.

"In between contract jobs she sang in taverns in exchange for room and board. She has an entire network of people that know her in both fields, and her reputation is quite good. We've stumbled upon a very useful ally," Leliana said.

"She sought me out before they left," Cullen said. "She asked me a lot of questions about Templar training. Given that she knew all the answers already, I feel rather foolish."

"That _is_ interesting," Leliana said, a note of approval in her voice. "You told the truth, did you not?"

"I did, yes."

"Then what she learned was that you are honest and trustworthy, which is what we want her to know about the Commander of the Inquisition's forces. Not all questions are about the answers, Commander."

"I suppose."

Leliana crossed over toward the door.

"Do not let it trouble you," Leliana said. "Perhaps she just wished to talk with you and had no better ideas."

She left him there, closing the door partway behind her.

He picked up the report, flipped a few pages, then read.

" _Ser Hanson Beckwith of Ostwick confirms that she was adequate, though not gifted in warrior training_ ," he read. " _A hunch led him to bring in a rogue trainer to tutor her. He reports that under this new course of training, she was quick and nearly fearless._

 _Beckwith reports that there were 'incidents' in her last few years within the Order which 'should have given him reason for concern', but he refused to speak more about them. He expressed a real hope that our questioning meant that Wren was still alive. He seems to feel that he failed her in some way, and as a result, lost a valuable asset to the Order_."

Cullen sat back in his chair, thinking about how he'd told her of his childhood desire to join, how he'd begged the Templars and his parents for the opportunity. She had been part of the Order before he'd stopped running around with his siblings and swinging around a stick for a sword. What had she seen that had sent her running? Had it been like his break with the Order?

He looked back at the report.

_Have **you** taken those vows?_

He would have to speak to her when she returned.  
  


* * *

  
The Storm Coast.

It was bleak, cold and dark, a misery of black waves crashing over rocks. When Varric had heard where they were going, he'd held up both hands and begged off, telling her a story about crossing the Waking Sea with Cassandra and Cullen. Awful, he'd told her. Cullen had never slept. Cassandra had complained the entire time. Varric had been wet and miserable. He didn't even want to look at the coast any time soon.

Wren hadn't doubted him. She'd taken a group along the coast a few years before, in winter - but, as she told Varric, it couldn't be worse now than it had been then. She was right, as it turned out. The sky was at least grey this time instead of nearly black. The wind still cut through you, but it wasn't as cold. There wasn't any snow, or hail. She wasn't trying to lead a very reluctant donkey to an abandoned port, though with how Sera felt about the weather, there were some similarities.

Despite Sera's (loud, constant) opinions about the weather, and the view, and the state of her clothes, she didn't volunteer to go back to Haven with the new mercenary crew. She was too fascinated with their leader, The Iron Bull, who had volunteered to swap out for someone in Wren's party. "So we can get to know each other," he'd said, with a bit of a grin.

It ended up being Cassandra that escorted the Bull's Chargers back to Haven, though she did so with obvious reluctance. Leaving their Herald in the company of a rebel and a spy didn't make her comfortable, though the presence of the Warden mollified her somewhat.

"You will be careful," Cassandra said, neither a question nor a demand.

"Yes," Wren said. "Don't worry about us. You'll have enough to do leading the Chargers back to Haven."

"My boys are well behaved," Bull said casually. "Shouldn't be any trouble. It'll be fine - I'll protect your girl." His smile didn't seem to reassure Cassandra at all, but she left all the same.

A few of Wren's reports made it to Haven before Cassandra did, so by the time she arrived reassurances were already in place. Bull, Wren reported, was good with an axe, pleasant to speak with, and snored like a bronto. He wasn't the best at finding the Warden artifacts that Blackwall wanted, but he was good at standing guard while the rest of them searched.

 _I kept the actual artifacts here, so Blackwall could look at them whenever he wanted_ , Wren's report read, _but I've also found some more recent journal entries. I'm sending them with this report. I think they would be of interest to Leliana._

"They are," Leliana murmured. "Seems the Wardens were searching for someone. Very interesting."

Her second report continued in the same vein - everything was fine, they were finding what they needed, they'd established some camps, and they'd dealt with a strange group called "The Blades of Hessarian".

 _They say they work for **me** now_, Wren wrote. _They have been very specific about that. It is a small group, maybe twenty five people in total, and four dogs._

"What do we know about these Blades?" Cullen asked.

"They are an Andrastean cult," Leliana said. "A military order, primarily. They used to hold the Sword of Mercy, but nobody has seen it in some time. I doubt they have enough power to cause us any trouble. The Herald says she's putting them to work as agents of the Inquisition for now, and she hopes the Commander will have a use for them."

"I might," Cullen said. "If nothing else, it will be good to have eyes on the coast."

Wren's third report, arriving just after Cassandra, was slightly more troubling. They'd found the artifacts, but had also stumbled upon a group of darkspawn at the surface.

 _They surprised us_ , Wren wrote. _We beat them back, but the best we could do was roll a boulder in front of the entrance to their cave. Blackwall said that on his own, he can't do anything more permanent than that. I've drawn a small map on the back of the page to show you where they are._

"They shouldn't have been surprised," Leliana murmured.

"Perhaps they were having a storm," Josephine said.

"They are _always_ having a storm," Cassandra said. "The weather is terrible there."

"Yes," Leliana agreed, but she did not look pleased by the answer.

Reports from outside the Storm Coast began to pile up. Requests for aid from the Fallow Mire, from the Hinterlands, and points beyond. Leliana and Josephine were eager for Wren to follow up on an invitation from Grand Enchanter Fiona. Cullen and Cassandra were concerned about reports of strange activities at Therinfal Redoubt.

Wren could not return soon enough, as far as they were all concerned.  
  


* * *

   
Wren arrived in Haven tired, sore, and cold. Her leather armor was stained with salt and the lining was still damp. No amount of setting it out by the fire had really permeated the layers, much as she'd hoped it would. Her left arm ached. Her eyes were sore from salt water and the glaring snow.

She went straight to the war room all the same. Cassandra, Josephine, and Cullen were leaning over the war table, talking over the new markers that dotted the surface. Josephine looked up, then straightened in surprise.

"Herald!" Josephine said. "I apologise, I was sure you were Leliana. You're a bit earlier than we expected."

"We made especially good time last night," Wren said. "The weather has been clear in the mountains."

The door to the war room opened again, and the room filled with the smell of warm spices. Leliana stepped in carrying a tray piled with pastries. She did not seem surprised to see Wren in the slightest.

"Welcome back, Herald," Leliana said. "I thought you might be back in time for tea. Would you like a sweet roll? Varric mentioned that you like them."

Wren's face lit up. "Yes, please," she said. She peeled off her leather gloves and shoved them in her belt, then held out both hands toward Leliana.

Leliana smiled slightly and handed over the largest one on the tray. Wren took the pastry and held it close to her face, breathing in deeply and then sighing.

"Thank you," she said. "Whatever you want, the answer is yes."

"Good," Leliana said.

"That is cheating, Leliana," Cassandra said.

"There are no rules of engagement in the war room," Leliana said. "Sweet roll?" She offered the tray to Cassandra.

Cassandra looked disapprovingly at Leliana, then took a roll from the tray.

"Commander?" Leliana offered. She extended the tray toward him.

"Ah- yes, thank you," he said, taking one.

Leliana moved on as Cullen looked over his choice. "Josie?" Leliana asked.

"Oh, I shouldn't," Josephine said.

Wren peeled a stripe off of her roll. "Do you not like them, Ambassador?" Wren asked.

"I do," Josephine said, "but they're very sticky, and I have all these papers..."

Wren tore off a smaller piece and popped it in her mouth, humming with satisfaction. "They're very good," she said. "There isn't too much honey on them. I think you could risk it."

"Well… perhaps one, then," Josephine said. She took the smallest one, then paused and swapped it for a larger one.

Leliana watched everyone as they ate. The Herald tore her pastry to pieces, bit by bit, eating each piece with obvious pleasure. Despite her uncomfortable armor and weariness, Wren seemed more relaxed with treat in hand than she'd been in the war room any time before this.

Josephine ate delicately, wiping her fingers off on a handkerchief she had hidden away in her sleeve. Cassandra was somehow formal, eating hers normally, but stiffly. She kept looking at Leliana, waiting for whatever trick was coming.

The Commander wasn't looking at Leliana at all. He ate his roll while trying not to also watch the Herald. Something about the way she ate seemed to draw his attention. He'd start out looking down at the reports in front of him, or the map, and then his gaze would steadily lift to follow Wren's fingers as she tore apart her treat. Every time he caught himself doing it he would look back down quickly.

"I appreciate you coming so quickly," Leliana said, looking at Wren. "Though what I have for you can wait until after you have been able to unpack. I assume you will be speaking with Harritt, as well?"

Wren nodded, looking slightly confused by the turn. "Yes. He wants me to bring in my armor. He likes to see what's happened to it. Says it helps him design."

"I have reports for you, but you could take them with you to go over while you unpack. We can meet again tonight to discuss them, after you've finished with everything else. Would that suit you?" Leliana asked.

"I- yes. That would be fine. I'd like to get out of my armor as quickly as I can," Wren said.

"Chafing," Cassandra said, not really a question.

"Mmm," Wren agreed.

"Then I'll send them with you," Leliana said. "Does anyone else have anything to discuss that can't wait?"

"If you could come by later, Herald," Josephine said, "I did want to talk to you briefly. It isn't important, just a question or two."

"Of course," Wren said. "I was going to come by there anyway to give things to Minaeve."

"Commander?" Leliana asked.

"What? I- no," Cullen said. "Nothing pressing."

"Then I think we can be done for now," Leliana said. She handed over a stack of paper. "Read these over. We will meet here again tonight, an hour after supper."

Wren looked around. "We're just- really? I-" She paused. "Thank you," she said.

Cassandra waved a hand toward the door. "Go on," she said.

Wren's bow was more of a quick bob, and she left the war room quickly.

"I thought you were going to bring up Redcliffe," Cassandra said, looking at Leliana.

"That would have been too predictable," Leliana said. "I simply wanted to check my information. It seems Varric is reliable enough."

"Hmm," Cassandra said.

"On some matters," Leliana added.

"I suppose," Cassandra said.

The door to the war room opened again. Wren rushed in, document case in hand.

"Sorry," she said. "I wanted to leave this with you." She rushed over and handed it to Leliana.

"The Iron Bull and the Bull's Chargers' contracts," Wren said. "You should have them."

"Ah. Thank you, Herald," Leliana said. "I did wonder."

"The seals wouldn't fit in the bird's cases," Wren said. She headed back toward the door. "Sorry for interrupting."

The door closed behind her again.

"Do you think she will ever believe us that she is an equal in the Inquisition?" Josephine asked.

Cassandra nearly laughed. "It seems unlikely," she said. "And before you say it Leliana, I know it would help if I had not threatened to kill her."

Leliana smiled.  
  


* * *

   
She'd been back three days - a record, with how quickly she'd been turned around since the Conclave. It hadn't been a restful three days - instead they were full of meetings and discussions and a lot of what Josephine called "public reassurance" (which really just meant making sure she could be seen to be talking to people and helping).

Technically, this fell under that last category. Wren climbed up on a crate by the training grounds and chanced a small sigh of relief at the lack of any immediate call. This was her last night in camp, and she wanted this, something tentatively familiar. They were leaving the next morning to head to the Hinterlands again, and she didn't know how long they would be gone this time.

She had made a promise long before now to help the mages - to protect them, as best she could. If Fiona and the free mages needed her, she needed to know why. They might have ideas, or perhaps some of them could be convinced to put aside the fight and join them in Haven, to work with the Templars, perhaps…

Wren sighed. Unlikely, and she knew it.

She knew the Templars, knew them in her bones, and she knew they could help. She had felt the effects of even her own unskilled, unpowered attempts to block her mark. A group of trained men, fully in their power - she was certain they could suppress the Breach.

Josephine had explained why they couldn't just send a team to Therinfal to meet with the Templars while Wren took her team to the mages. The templars wouldn't speak to them without Wren there acting as figurehead. The mages had invited Wren specifically, and wouldn't let anyone else in. No, it would have to be one after another, and someone would have to be first.

She'd chosen the mages.

She shook her head. Dwelling on it wouldn't change the plan, or her decisions, or why she'd made them. She might as well enjoy this thin moment between obligations. Wren leaned forward and looked out at the ever growing collection of troops camped outside the walls.

Mid-battle, Wolfson somehow still spotted her. He raised his shield in greeting, and almost coincidentally blocked a hit. Wren smiled and waved. _Lucky bastard_ , she thought affectionately.

He was doing well, fitting in with the motley crew of recruits. Somehow, knowing Wolfson was with their troops now was both a relief _and_ a stress. How did the Commander do this? How did he get to know the men and still manage to lead them into battle? She'd headed up caravans, but it was an altogether smaller and more manageable scale. She knew that if things went wrong, she could likely still come home with a full crew, alive.

That would not be true if they ever actually needed these troops for anything. _Maker, I hope we never do._

She looked closer at the troops. Lieutenant Harrison was running the drills, and doing a fine job. It was gratifying to see how quickly he'd shown the proof of his promise. The Commander wasn't even on the field, which was odd. Come to think of it, she hadn't seen him since the war table meeting earlier, when he'd objected to the plan. Was he-

"Should I ask if _you've_ taken any vows, Herald?" she heard from behind her.

Wren turned quickly. She'd been so caught in her own thoughts that she hadn't noticed him come up beside her. He rested a hip on the crate and raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. His expression was nearly impossible to read.

She bit her lower lip. " _Are_ you asking, Commander?" she asked, eyes dancing.

"Perhaps," he said. A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

There was a certain warmth to the question that made Wren's breath catch. _Is he flirting with me? He isn't. He can't be._

"I take it you read the report on me," Wren said, pulse suddenly jumping.

"I did," he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. "It was full of surprises."

"For me as well," Wren said. "Leliana's people knew more about me than I did."

"That must have been strange," he said. He looked out over the troops. "I would rather not know what she knows about me."

Wren chuckled.

They sat quietly a moment.

"Why did you ask me about the Templars? You're as much as expert as I am," Cullen asked quietly.

"Ah. Well." Wren pulled her knee up to her chest and looped her arms around her bent leg. "I'm hardly an expert these days. I left so long ago, and I never was a full member, so to speak." She rested her chin on her knee. "I wanted to know how _you_ felt about them. Why you joined. Why you stayed." _Why you left._

"And about _vows_ ," he said with a bit of a self-deprecating smirk.

"Maybe I was teasing you a bit then," Wren admitted. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Cullen said. "Embarrassing, but I survived."

"Good," Wren said. She looked at the troops, then leaned slightly toward Cullen.

"I didn't take any vows either," Wren said quietly. "For the record."

"I will keep that in mind," he said. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

_He **is** flirting with me. Oh, Maker._

"At least reading the report on me was a break from troop reports," she said, speaking quickly. "Not that the details of my life are much more interesting."

"I don't only read troop reports. There's the book you leant me, after all," he said.

"Really?" Wren turned more fully to look at him. "You've been reading it?"

"I have," he confirmed. He relaxed a little, uncrossing his arms and leaning more fully against the crate. "I'm at the part where he's been captured by a Tevinter magister."

"That's a good bit!" Wren beamed. "Do you like the story so far? If you're just humoring me, honestly, you don't have to."

"It has grown on me," Cullen said. "I meant to thank you. I used to read all the time, but lately- well. This has reminded me of something I missed."

Wren uncoiled and turned toward him. "I'm glad," she said. "I-"

"Commander?"

Wren and Cullen turned to look.

"Lieutenant Harrison," Cullen said. "Yes?"

"I wonder if you have time to look over Jameson's shield block," Harrison said. "I'm not certain I see the cause of the problem."

"Of course," Cullen said. "Please excuse me, Herald."

He headed out to the field. Harrison hesitated, looking at Wren. "I apologise, Herald."

"It's fine. Watch Jameson's right shoulder," Wren said. "He tends to dip it. That might be what's throwing him off."

Harrison nodded. "I thought so, but the Commander is better at the why of things than I am."

"For now," Wren said. "I think you're doing well."

The younger man flushed. "Thank you, Herald. I- I should go."

She waved him away. "Of course," she said.

Harrison headed back to the field, and Wren slid off her crates. Break time was over, and she owed Josephine a meeting before nightfall.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was low, but still warm as they reached the forward camp. It had been an early morning, and the horses were tired - to say nothing of the riders. Nobody complained more about riding than Varric, and he had reached peak complaint about an hour before.

It was a relief to have that end, at least.

Wren sat down on one of the large logs around the fire, kicking her feet up onto a nearby rock. Blackwall looked up from repairing his boot and smiled at her.

"My lady," he said politely.

"Blackwall," she said. She stretched, then started rubbing the soreness out of her calves. "Mind if I trouble you a minute?"

"Not at all," Blackwall said.

Varric sat down on a nearby log with a groan.

"Might be a bit awkward," Wren warned.

"Go on," Blackwall said, setting his boot down.

"I like flirting with you," Wren said. "That seems to be mutual, yes?"

Blackwall laughed. "It is," he said. "Is that a problem?"

"It's probably unprofessional," Wren said, "But I don't give a tinker's. My question is whether it's fine to keep doing it, even after I tell you it's never going anywhere."

"I meant no disrespect, Herald," he said.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Blackwall, I flirted with _you_ before you flirted with _me_ ," Wren said. "I'm not saying I'm better than you or that you've done something wrong. I just want to be clear about intentions."

"Huh," Blackwall said. "Well, I like flirting with a pretty lady, and it does make it easier having the cards on the table."

"So you're fine going on as we have?" Wren asked.

"Yes," Blackwall said.

"Good," Wren said, smiling in satisfaction.

Sera walked over with a bowl of grapes and sat next to Wren, wiggling the bowl until Wren took a few.

"Does everyone you've flirted with get this speech? Because I've seen you flirt with Curly," Varric said. "If he hasn't yet, call me before you give it. I want to watch that."

Wren chuckled. "I don't think I need to. He probably looks at me and sees ‘BAD IDEA' written all over my face," Wren said, waving her hand in front of her face.

"What's he seeing written on your ass, then? Because he stares at that a lot," Varric said.

"Probably ‘THIS IS A MISTAKE'. More space there for letters," Wren said.

Blackwall chuckled.

She grabbed a few more grapes, then grinned.

"‘A lot', huh?" she said.

"At least as often as you stare at his," Varric said.

Wren laughed.

"Now I _know_ you're lying," Wren said. "His arse is not what I'm staring at most of the time."

Sera cackled with laughter.

"What?" Wren said. "I was going to say-"

"No!" Sera said. "Don't ruin it. I want to believe."  
 

* * *

   
It took two weeks before Cullen caved. 

He wound his way through the troops, then tapped Wolfson on the shoulder and waved him over. Wolfson followed, only hesitating slightly when they walked well away from the other troops.

"Wolfson, isn't it?" Cullen asked.

"Yes, ser," Wolfson said. He pulled his helmet off and tucked it under his arm.

"You transferred from Ostwick, correct?" Cullen said.

"Yes, ser."

Cullen hesitated slightly. "Did you know the Herald there?" he asked.

"Yes, ser," Wolfson said. "We served together for ten years in training."

Both men looked over to where the Herald often sat and watched the troops as they trained - a spot that had been empty since she'd left.

"I only recently learned she was a Templar," Cullen said.

"Very nearly," Wolfson said. "Losing her was hard. I was looking forward to fighting beside her. I'm glad to have the chance now, whatever form that takes."

"What was she like when you knew her?" Cullen asked.

"In battle? Fearless. Fast. Reckless, maybe. She was never above using every advantage. She'd distract you, get you off balance, and never defended when she could attack." Wolfson smirked. "Her trainer spent years getting her to think about when to take the risks and when to wait. By the time he retired, she was one of the best. Beckwith was getting smug about it, too. Like he had anything to do with it."

"Beckwith."

"The Knight-Commander in charge of Ostwick grounds at the time," Wolfson said.

"And off the field?"

"The best friend I could have had. She was loyal as a beggar's dog. Always willing to get into a scrap with you and good at getting you out," Wolfson said.

Cullen nodded. "Do you know why she left the Order?"

"You'd have to ask her," Wolfson said. "I could guess, but I don't actually know. We didn't see much of each other toward the end. She got pulled from the barracks. Not long after, her trainer retired, and then she was never around anymore. Sometimes I'd see her in the library, but she was different. Quieter. Withdrawn." He shook his head. "I should have asked more questions, should have tried harder. I hope to make up for it now."

The sound of hoofbeats, arriving quickly, caught everyone's attention. A scout came riding up to the camp, his horse pressed to the limits. The scout grabbed a scroll and handed it to Cullen.

"Ser!" the breathless scout said. "Message from Redcliffe!"

"Thank you," Cullen said. He unrolled the paper.

Wren's handwriting was precise and sharp with speed.

_Birds refuse to fly here. Something impeding them. Had to send this on foot._

"Wolfson. Thank you for your insights," Cullen said, still reading. "Feel free to return to your work."

_Situation here very bad. Likely to get worse._

"Glad to help, ser," Wolfson said.

Wolfson headed back to the field, and Cullen headed for the gates.

_Returning immediately to give report in person.  
_  

* * *

   
The sound was unmistakable, screaming from the walls, bleeding into her body and tearing at her mind.

" _Lyrium_ ," Wren whispered, looking around the dark hall. "Maker, it's everywhere, it's so loud."

"Loud?" Dorian asked. "I suppose it hums a bit, but…"

"It screams," Wren said. "It's worse than the blue, so much worse." She put her hands over her ears, as if that would help.

It didn't.

"I _am_ sorry," Dorian said, "but we need to find Alexius. Perhaps it will be quieter if we get away from the dungeon."

The mark burned in her hand, a coal beneath her skin as she led the way, sneaking and sidling along walls. After the first two cultists they'd seen, there seemed to be no one in these forsaken cells, just the unearthly sound of the red crystals that cracked through the stones.

"What does it sound like to you?" Dorian asked.

"Haven't you heard lyrium before?" Wren asked.

"Certainly, but only as a faint humming sound, barely worth noting. Your reaction says you hear something different."

"It's terrible," Wren said. She shook her head. "It's a hum, but it's a vibration, You can't get rid of it. It's just outside where you can really hear it, so you're always aware of it but you can't just tune it out." She gestured toward the pulsing red light from the walls. "And this stuff is higher pitched, like a scream."

Dorian listened, then stopped. "Do you hear that? Not the lyrium, something else."

Wren hesitated by the doorway and waited. In the next hall, she heard a voice, droning and monotonous. "Andraste blessed me, Andraste blessed me-"

"A person," Wren murmured. She waved for Dorian to follow her down the hall.

"Andraste blessed me, my tears are my sins, my sins, my sins-"

Around the corner, pressed between shafts of lyrium and heavy bars, a young elf stared blankly ahead, chanting. She recognised him, Wren realized with a sickening jolt. "The boy from the gates," she said. "Lysas, he said his name was Lysas." She walked up to the bars. He didn't look at her, didn't move or seem to notice her approach.

"Andraste guide me, Andraste guide me," he said.

"Lysas. _Lysas_. Can you hear me?" Wren said. Lysas stared straight at her, but did not seem to see her. "Andraste blessed me," he said in the same dead tone.

"Not even a flinch," Dorian said. "Maker, what happened here?"

"My tears are my sins," Lysas said. "My sins, my sins."

Wren reached out, then pulled her hand back before she could make contact. "We have to keep looking," she said. "There has to be- there has to be something we can do."

Her pace was quicker down the corridors, trying to pick any real sounds out from the screams of the lyrium around her. She could make out the creaking of cell doors, sometimes distant footsteps, but nothing she could track.

Then, she heard a new kind of humming, louder, different - and familiar.

"No," Wren whispered. "Please no."

She rushed down the next hall, following the sound with a mix of anticipation and horror. She skidded to a stop in front of another cell and her breath caught in her throat.

The man inside looked up at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"No," she breathed.

"Andraste's sacred knickers. You're alive?" Varric asked, an echo to his voice humming like the undercurrent of the lyrium.

Wren dropped to her knees in front of the door and started working on the lock. "Shit," she said, "shit, we'll get you out."

"How are you here?" Varric asked. He stepped closer to the bars. "You're dead. We're all dead, but you died before the Elder One came."

"I didn't die," Wren said. "I just got here, he sent me through time, from then to now."

"Now is a shitty time to be here," Varric said. He shook his head.

"We're trying to find Alexius," Dorian said. Wren looked up at him, startled. She'd forgotten, for a moment, that he was even there. "If we find him, I may be able to get us back to the present- rather, the past. Simple, in theory," Dorian said.

"Yeah, maybe not _that_ simple," Varric said. "Alexius was just a servant. His Elder One assassinated the Empress and raised a demon army to invade the south. The Elder One rules everything now - or what's left of it."

"Did anyone else- is everyone gone?" Wren asked.

Varric shrugged. "Kind of hard to tell from in here," he said. "Used to hear about others from the guards, but there haven't been any guards lately. Good thing this lyrium shit makes it so you don't have to eat." His wry half-smile made Wren's fingers shake.

"What's with this lyrium, Varric?" she asked.

"Kid, I promise, you don't want to know," he said.

"We'll stop this," she said. The lock gave, and she stood up, hauling the door open. "We have to. We'll find him, and we'll take it all back."

"You're crazy, or maybe I'm finally dying and I'm the one losing my mind," Varric said. "Either way, I'll take it. Don't suppose you want some company? Bianca and I wouldn't mind settling some scores."

A shimmer of red haze surrounded him like heat from a fire. Wren nodded.

"Let's go," she said.

He slung Bianca over his shoulder and followed Dorian down the hall.

Wren didn't say anything more as they searched for a way out of the dungeons, passing skeletons impaled on spikes of red lyrium, bodies heaving with the crystals, walls collapsed from battle - or something even stranger.

They entered another hallway, and Wren saw a shadow moving in the reflected light of the lyrium. She rushed forward, her pace faltering when she saw the Warden locked in the cell before her.

Blackwall's eyes glowed red, and when he spoke, his voice had that same lyrium vibration.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "Andraste have mercy, the dead should rest in peace."

"Blackwall," Wren whispered. "No, I-"

"I was there! I saw you fall," Blackwall said. His voice faltered. "Alexius' spell left nothing but ash. We couldn't save you."

"No, he- he sent us through time," Wren said. "Blackwall, I'm so sorry. I should have- I should have stopped him." She unlocked the cell, quicker this time. "We're going to get to him now, so Dorian can try and get he and I back to before any of this happened."

"I don't understand," Blackwall said. "How is any of that possible?"

"Well," Dorian said, "the idea is-"

"Wait," Blackwall said. "It doesn't matter. If we get you to Alexius, you'll be able to go back to before the Elder One, and the invasion? Will you be able to stop it?"

"Maker, I'll do everything I can," Wren said.

"Then I'm with you," Blackwall said. "We will get you to him, one way or another. You _must_ get back, Herald. Stop this before it can begin."

"You have my word," Wren said. She swung the door open. "Let's go."

"Alexius has locked himself in the throne room," Blackwall said. "The zealot bastards have talked about it for weeks. He never leaves."

"Then we go to the throne room," Wren said. "Which way?"

"That much I know. This way," Varric said. "Unless the castle has changed since the last time I was here."

The route seemed endless, more stairs, more halls, more cells filled with the dead. Wren couldn't bring herself to question Varric or Blackwall for more details. She had a terrible niggling sensation that she knew what the answers would be, and she didn't want to face it.

The sound of a groan drew them toward a cell teeming with lyrium, louder and higher than the others. Inside, a limp body was mostly encased in crystal. Wren hissed in a breath. _Fiona._

"Shit," Varric said.

At the sound, the woman leaned away from the wall and looked at Wren. Her eyes were entirely red, and her voice was more lyrium hum than anything else.

"You're… alive! How?" Fiona asked. Her voice shook. "I saw you… disappear… into the rift." Each word seemed painful, as if she paid in blood to form them.

Wren was struck dumb, staring at the edge between what was left of Fiona and the pulsing, greedy crystal that filled her cell.

"There was-," Wren managed. "Fiona, what- please tell me this isn't-"

"You don't want to know, kid," Varric said. "I promise."

"Red lyrium," Fiona wheezed. "It's… a disease. The-" she gasped for breath, "-longer you're near it..."

Wren backed away in horror. "You're infected," she said. "It's growing out of you."

Fiona nodded slowly. "You become this," she said. "Then they mine your corpse for more."

Wren looked at Varric. "I told you, we're all dead," he said. He looked apologetic.

Wren whirled back to the cell. "Can we do something for you, anything?" Wren asked.

"No," Fiona said. "There is… nothing. What are you… doing here?"

"Finding Alexius," Dorian said. "He sent the Herald and I forward in time instead of killing us. Sloppy, really. If we can reach him, we should be able to return and stop this from happening at all."

"If you truly can… you must... stop this from happening," Fiona said. "The Elder One is… more powerful than the Maker. No one... challenges him and lives."

Wren wrapped her hand around the cell bars. " _I_ will," Wren said. She dropped to her knees and began picking the lock.

"You do remember I said we _probably_ could get back, _if_ we find Alexius, _and_ the amulet, _and_ trying doesn't get us killed," Dorian said.

"If we die, we die," Wren said. "But we take him down with us."

"Your… spymaster. Leliana. She is here," Fiona wheezed. "Find her. Quickly, before the Elder One… learns you are here. Don't… waste time on my cell. I… cannot move."

"No," Wren said. The lock clicked and she swung the door wide. "But you shouldn't have to stare at the bars."

"Leave me. I will… be gone before long," Fiona said. "Save your energy… for the enemy."

"I will," Wren said. "I made a promise long ago. If I get back… I will keep it, Fiona. I swear."

"I know," she said. "Go, Little Bird. Hurry."

Wren looked at the cell, at the swells of lyrium, and she fled toward the stairs. Spires of red lyrium were everywhere, and now she couldn't stop seeing them.

_It's in the walls. It's in the ceilings. It's in the floor._

"If red lyrium is an infection," Dorian said, hurrying to keep up, "why is it coming out of the walls?"

"Do you really want to know?" Varric asked.

"I suppose I can guess," Dorian said.

_The dead are screaming._   
  


* * *

  
The first night, she didn't sleep. She didn't even try. Instead, Wren scrubbed her armor until her hands were raw and burned every bit of clothing she'd worn in Redcliffe Castle. She took a long bath in a nearby pond, holding her breath as long as she could to hide under the water. The sound of the water in her ears helped drown out the sound of the lyrium that still echoed somewhere in her head.

Dorian found her sitting by the fire in her smalls in the earliest hours of dawn.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked her, taking a seat next to her.

She shook her head. "No," Wren said.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

Wren's gaze was fixed to the fire. The silence stretched out between them for a long moment.

"No," she said. "I'm not sure I want to try."

Dorian exhaled slowly. "Worried about nightmares?" he asked.

"Not so much," Wren said. "I don't remember my dreams, if I have them at all. I just… don't want to drop my guard."

"We _are_ in a camp full of allies," Dorian said. "You should be safe."

In the quiet that followed, Dorian could almost feel the weight of her thoughts. She sat nearly motionless, barely blinking, her mind clenched like a fist. Then, finally, she took a harsh breath.

"I let them die, Dorian," Wren said.

He touched her shoulder - her skin was cold under his fingers. "We stopped that from happening. No matter what, that specific future, the things we saw, those will never happen."

She was silent again for a long moment. "I wish that helped," she finally said.

Dorian got up as the sounds of camp started to creep over to their part of the site. He found his bags, digging through them until he came up with a shirt. Sleeveless, so not ideal, but he didn't own anything warmer. He brought it to the fireside and let it fall into Wren's lap.

"You are making me cold," he said. "Do me a favor, would you?"

Wren picked up the garment and held it up for a moment. It was grey, finely patterned, and soft from wear. She looked up at Dorian.

"Go on," he said, waving a hand at her. "Before you turn blue."

"Thank you," she said quietly. She pulled the shirt on over her head. Being cut to fit Dorian somewhat closely, it wasn't dramatically large on Wren. It would take very little, he thought, to even make it somewhat flattering.

"Keep it," Dorian said impulsively. "I have plenty of others, and you seem a bit lacking in that department."

That brought a hint of a smile to her face. "I will then," she said.

"Mind this for me, would you?" Dorian asked. He set his staff down next to her and headed off to the main camp. He returned with two mugs, a pair of long socks, and some pants.

"Complements of the mages," he said. "Seems you've some friends already, Herald."

She took all the offerings and finished dressing, managing to look assembled by the time that Varric and Blackwall joined them at the fire. As she drank her coffee, she prepared her first report back to Haven.

_A full alliance with the mages has been struck. Grand Enchanter Fiona has agreed that in exchange for our protection, the mages will do whatever is necessary to help close the Breach. Room will need to be found for them, as Ferelden has evicted them. The first wave is leaving today, with our party. A second wave will be leaving in two days, escorted by Inquisition troops and the Grand Enchanter._

A raven took the report away.

She led the way through the Hinterlands toward Haven. For once, no one suggested that the scouts could just as easily do that job - with a group this size, they likely couldn't. Wren was a figurehead, leading the mages along unoccupied routes and keeping them safe as they walked.

That night, exhaustion dropped her. While she'd never been one to dream, she kept waking over and over to the feeling of her heart pounding against her ribs and her lungs burning as though she could not get enough air. Each time, it took longer to calm herself and sleep again. She gave up trying long before dawn.

Every day after was much the same. She put on armor, she tended to her horse, and she tended to her people. Haven loomed ever closer. She did not receive replies to her report, though she knew it had arrived. The raven had returned that same day with its document case unlocked and empty.

She just had to hope that her decision had been the right one.

She sent a second report, detailing for Leliana the things they'd seen and heard about in the future. She tried to remember all she could about the fall of Ferelden, of Orlais, the demon army raised, the death of the Empress - the lyrium. The papers she had picked up along the way were still in one of her bags, but she didn't send them. Better not to risk it.

There was no reply to this report, either.

Her final report was simple.

_I could either abandon the mages entirely,_ Wren wrote, _and allow them to be exiled, or I could secure their aid and take responsibility for them._  

_Maybe it would have been smarter to conscript them and bring them in as prisoners. It would give us more power. It would be less politically complicated._

_If that was what you wanted, you sent the wrong person to Redcliffe. These people did nothing to warrant being made prisoners. What kind of people are we if we save them from slavery only to imprison them ourselves?_   
  


* * *

   
Wren opened the small door to the Chantry instead of the large one, worried that her tired arms wouldn't be able to manage anything more. Days of constant travel with little food and less sleep had left her, as Dorian had phrased it, 'a stunning visual representation of their adventure'.

She was going to miss him. Now that she had taken care of the Redcliffe situation, there was little to keep him here. They hadn't talked about it, but she would not be surprised to see him leaving with Felix before the week was out.

Before her eyes could adjust to the light inside the building, she could hear raised voices and the telltale cadence of argument. Wren squinted at the figures, trying to guess at the lay of the land.

The door fell closed behind her, harder than she'd expected, and rattled the larger door. Wren winced at the sound, and watched as all four advisors turned. Seeing Wren at the end of the hall, Cullen crossed his arms. "What were you thinking, turning the mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!" Cullen said. His voice rang off the stones. "There will be abominations among the mages! They could do as much damage as the demons themselves!"

Wren crossed her arms, watching him. She held tight to her biceps, willing herself not to react. She wasn't sure what she would do if she cracked. Yell? Cry? March over and punch him?

He threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "And you gave them a full alliance!"

"I did," Wren said. Her voice was hard, almost foreign.

"You and I both know what mages are capable of," he said. There was something almost pleading in the statement, something that reminded her of him saying _I was a Templar_ back at the start.

"If that's true," she said, "then you should assume I had good reason for the alliance."

He stopped, and they stared each other down across the hall.

"The sole purpose of the Herald's mission was to gain the help of the mages, and that has been accomplished," Cassandra said. "We weren't there. We should not second guess her."

"The voice of pragmatism speaks!"

Dorian's voice drew Wren's attention away from Cullen. She spotted Dorian leaning elegantly against a pillar, watching them all with amusement.

"I trust the Herald," Cassandra said. "Pragmatism has little to do with it."

"With Therinfal out of the picture, we are lucky to have the mages, whatever the arrangement," Leliana said. "We could have done better for ourselves, but I can work with what we have."

"What happened to Therinfal?" Wren asked. She carefully avoided looking directly at Leliana. She was afraid of what she would see. When Wren saw Fiona, she saw both reality and the twisted future, competing in her mind, twisting together. Wren could hear the echoes of the lyrium, the grate of her voice through a broken body, the sunken cheeks, the hollow eyes of a dying woman.

She couldn't bear the idea that she would see Leliana the same way. Her last view of the future, of Leliana's body broken, of her last words, her cry-

Wren looked over the Spymaster's shoulder instead, focusing on a flickering light in the distance.

"We do not know," Leliana said. "Not long after you arrived at Redcliffe, my contacts there disappeared. No news has come in or out since."

"Do you need me to go there?" Wren asked. "I could change packs and leave as soon as we can get new horses."

"It is best not to risk it. I would need my contacts back to find out what, if anything, we could do," Leliana said. "I have people moving in to investigate, but in the meantime I want to speak with you about the things you saw in that dark future. The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?"

"I have notes," Wren said. She opened a pouch on her belt and pulled out a packet of stained paper. "I took every bit of paper that wasn't burned beyond recognition."

"Good," Leliana said. "Very good."

“This is all horribly predictable, I'm afraid. Hardly the first Tevinter cult to want to destroy the world because they don't run all of it. Kill the Empress, Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone!" Dorian said.

“We can take this one battle at a time," Cullen said. “It's going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits just to tackle the Breach." He looked around. "Let's take this to the war room," he suggested.

"I'll skip the war council, but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don't mind," Dorian said. "Do you have time to walk with me before your meeting, Herald?"

"You're staying?" Wren asked. "I thought-" Her voice trailed off.

"Oh, didn't I mention? The south is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces," Dorian said. He stood up and smiled at her.

A fierce joy took hold of her. "I'm glad," she said.

"Go, go," Josephine said. "Meet us at the war room when you're ready, Herald."

"Thank you," Wren said. Dorian walked over to meet her, smoothly cutting around Cullen. "Shall we?" he asked, holding his arm out.

"Of course," Wren said. "I… I'm so glad you're staying. There's no one I'd rather be stranded in time with, you know."

"I _am_ an excellent choice! But let's not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?" Dorian said. "There are better ways to get me all to yourself, believe me. Like this walk I've so cleverly suggested! Come, show me this terrible rift in the fabric of the universe. I hear you're the expert."

Wren tucked her arm around his. "Solas is the expert," she said, "but I can give you the tour."  
  


* * *

   
"Ah, Herald, good. I was hoping to speak with you."

Wren stopped in the doorway, unsure if this was an exhaustion-based hallucination or if First Enchanter Vivienne was really sitting at the small table in Wren's cabin. Vivienne perfectly polished even among the rough furnishings and pieces of discarded armor, and yet she did not look out of place. Wren suspected Vivienne never allowed herself to look out of place anywhere.

"Do come in and close the door, you're letting all the heat out," Vivienne said.

Wren stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She had made basic efforts to get to know Vivienne, of course, but as far as Wren could tell she'd never managed to make much of an impression - or at least, not a particularly good one. What Vivienne could want with her now, Wren couldn't begin to guess.

"You look a state," Vivienne said. "No wonder the whole of Haven is talking about it. Have you slept at all?"

Wren walked over to her bed and sat on the edge, hooking one heel up on the bed rail so she could start to loosen the buckles on her boot. "Not much," she said. "I'm afraid I'll be very poor company."

"Then I will try to make this brief, Herald. I could not help but overhear your meeting in the Chantry this afternoon," Vivienne said.

_Of course._ "Ah," Wren said. "It was rather public." She finally managed to release the buckle and loosen her boot enough to shove it off her foot with a small sigh of relief.

"It was at that. My dear, I get the impression that you are unfamiliar with the finer points of politics. Would that be correct?"

Wren switched legs, hooking her other heel up to begin working on her second boot. "I suppose so," Wren said.

"You have limped along well enough up until now," Vivienne said. "However, with this alliance, we will draw the attention of larger political players - and you have already met with one such person, have you not? I heard that the King of Ferelden was in Redcliffe."

Wren's second boot came free, and she dropped it next to the first. "He was," Wren said. "He was pleasant enough." _Wishing me luck was pleasant, I suppose. Doubt I'll be invited over for tea, though._

"Of course he was. You took his problem and made it ours," Vivienne said. "Rebel mages, now with power and validation."

"They've always had power," Wren said. "That's why they're feared."

"Magical power, certainly, but you've handed them considerable political power," Vivienne said. "Offering them a full alliance tells them and all of Thedas that you consider them our equals. They will be viewed differently now - as will we."

"And if we had allied ourselves with the Templars, they would be the ones with a shift in status," Wren said. "Especially considering that we were never courting the Chantry - only it's watchdogs. Had we backed them, we could have fractured the entire Andrastean system in the south." She leaned forward. "A choice had to be made. It seemed more pressing to stop a Tevinter cultist from controlling all the mages in Ferelden than to investigate the Lord Seeker calling the Templars to Therinfal."

"I do not doubt that, dear," Vivienne said. "I've also heard talk that you're known to the mages of Ferelden. That may feed rumors that you sided with them out of old loyalties."

"And if I had?" Wren asked. She set both feet firmly on the floor. "It's my impression that is how this works. And anyway, I was trained as a Templar. Had I backed them, the rumors would be about my old loyalties there. There was no clean alliance to be made. We will just have to work with what we have."

Vivienne smiled slowly. "Good," she said. "You've thought about these things."

Wren stopped. "Was this a test?" she asked.

"I do not agree with your choices, Herald, but I am gratified to find that you've thought about them, and that you can defend them, even while so obviously impaired," Vivienne said.

"I see," Wren said.

"Have you tried a sleeping draught? You really should rest," Vivienne said. "I will have someone bring one by for you. You'll need all the energy you can muster for all that is to come."

"Ah- thank you," Wren said. "That's kind of you."

Vivienne stood up and looked down at Wren.

"Kind? Nonsense. We cannot have you at less than your best. I will speak to the Commander about the Templars and strategies for keeping the mages in check," Vivienne said. "If we have plans in place then we will be safer."

"I'm sure he'll be very helpful," Wren said.

"Indeed," Vivienne said. "Good evening, Herald."

Vivienne swept from the room and closed the door firmly behind her. Wren sighed a held breath. _Did I do well? I don't know. She seemed pleased, but…_

She shook her head. She would worry about Vivienne's affections another day.


	9. Chapter 9

"The mages, Trevelyan? Really?" Wolfson asked. He shifted his shield to defend as she came in sideways with her daggers.

"You want to talk about this during training, Wolfson? Really?" Wren echoed.

He swung and she spun, ducking away then darting back toward him.

"Yes. I could-" he blocked "-just gossip, but I'd rather ask you myself."

His sword came down and she caught it between her crossed daggers. She shoved him back, then circled. They moved further away from the other soldiers, backing toward the trees.

"What about the mages, then?" she said.

"Why them? Why not-" he swung, "why not us, Trevelyan?"

Wren slid away and darted close, punching him in the ribs to let him know he'd be dead if this was real. She spun away and held up her daggers again, signalling Wolfson to keep fighting.

"Are you telling me," she said, "that your men need me to show up at Therinfal and beg-"

She darted, and Wolfson retreated out of reach of her blades. She came around, and he blocked.

"-for their attention-"

He lunged, and she dropped and rolled. He swung and she blocked, barely in time.

"-more than we needed to get Tevinter off our doorstep?"

"You brought a Vint back with you!" Wolfson said.

Wren's eyes narrowed.

"Not the same thing," Wren growled. Wolfson fell back.

"Sore spot, Trevelyan?"

"Pushing your luck, Wolfson," she said. Her daggers flashed out, and she caught the edge of his shield as he ducked away.

"You knew something was-" Wolfson shoved her back with the shield. "-going on with the Templars-" He lunged to the side. "-but you didn't look into it-" Wren dodged, chasing around to the side. "-and now they've disappeared," he said, jabbing out at her.

"I can only be in one place at a time," Wren said. She rolled and snapped out at his legs, forcing him to back away quickly. "I would have gone to them," she said, rising back up. "If there'd been time."

They breathed hard, circling around each other.

"A full alliance," Wolfson said. "Why?"

"We aren't a Circle," Wren said.

"But unchecked-"

"Did I say unchecked?" She jabbed toward him. "You're here. The Commander is here," Wren said.

He threw up his shield and deflected her.

"Lysette-" she swung around, coming at him again. "Half a dozen new Templar recruits in the last two weeks-"

He blocked again, pushing back. Wren gritted her teeth.

"There's more of you trickling into camp all the time. What else do you want?" she asked, her voice rising. "Do you need me to _hold your hand_ , Wolfson?"

She rolled and came up close. Her blade sliced across his ribs, screaming across the metal of his armor. He turned quickly, trying to evade, but she was too close. His shield arm swung around, and the corner of his shield caught her on the temple.

The impact threw her sideways and she fell to the ground, landing on her hip and shoulder in the snow. For a horrible moment, she was very still.

Wolfson cast aside his sword and shield and dropped to the ground next to her. " _Wren_ ," he said. "Maker, are you alright?"

Wren shoved herself up to sit. "I'm fine," she said. As if in argument, blood slid down the side of her face from a gash near her forehead. She reached up and touched her cheek, then looked at her fingers and cursed.

Wolfson quickly dug through his pouch. "Here," he said, handing over a healing potion.

Wren pulled the cork out with her cold fingers and tossed it aside, then took a sip from the bottle. When the ache in her head began to ease, she took another drink. "Thanks," she said. "Your range is longer than I remembered."

Wolfson pulled his helmet off and set it to the side. "Sorry, Trevelyan," Wolfson said. "I shouldn't have been demanding an explanation. You don't owe me answers."

"I don't," she said, "but that doesn't mean you don't deserve them."

She took another drink from the healing potion. The wound on her head closed, stopping the flow of blood that stained her face and collected along her jaw.

"What's the problem, Wolfson?" Wren asked.

He sighed and looked up at the sky. "Free mages scare the shit out of me," he said. "You know what they're capable of, Trevelyan, you were in the same classes, the same trainings."

Wren finished the bottle and set it in the snow next to her bloody finger marks.

"Can I tell you something?" Wren asked. "Just between us."

"Sure," he said.

"I've spent a lot of time escorting mages around Ferelden, before and after the rebellion," she said. "They're just people, Thomas. They're no worse than anyone else."

"Anyone else that could set you on fire with a thought," Wolfson said.

Wren itched her face, then remembered the blood. She looked down at her hand and wrinkled her nose in irritation, then wiped blood onto the snow again.

"Could, but likely won't," Wren said. "Like I said, they're just _people_. Some of them are terrible, most of them aren't."

"Hmm." Wolfson scratched at his scarred cheek idly. "I've heard that argument before, Trevelyan."

Wren sighed. "I know," she said. "But it's the truest one I have. I don't want to pretend otherwise just to win an argument."

He smiled ruefully and nodded.

"At my lowest moments, it was a pair of apostates that helped me," Wren said. "They risked their safety and their lives to do me a kindness that I have worked to repay since. Yes, magic has risks, but everything does. We need mages to be dangerous, so that the things we've done to them are right and necessary. If mages aren't barely contained monsters, then maybe we are."

She looked over at him, and he winced at the sight of her, blood-covered and bruising. He fished out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

"You know me, Wolfson, or you did. Are you really surprised about the alliance?" Wren asked. She grabbed a handful of snow in the kerchief and held it to melt it.

Wolfson sighed. "No," he admitted. "I just… damn, Trevelyan."

"Yeah. That seems to be the general opinion," Wren said. " _Most_ people haven't been badgering me about it, though."

Wolfson grinned sheepishly. "Never could keep my mouth shut."

Wren leaned over to shove her shoulder against his. "Yeah," she said. "I know."

They sat there in the snow for a bit, watching the recruits fighting nearby.

"The Commander asked me about you," Wolfson said.

"He did? Why?" Wren asked. She shook away the remaining snow and started wiping away the blood on her face.

"I don't know. If he had a point, he never reached it." He shook his head. "For pity's sake, Trevelyan, you're just making a mess," Wolfson said. "Give it here."

He reached over and took the cloth from her. He mimicked her earlier impulse to wet the cloth with snow, then held her face still with his left hand while he rubbed the cloth in purposeful strokes with his right.

"Ssss- it's cold," Wren protested.

"Of course it is. It's _Ferelden_. If you wanted warm, you should have run away to Antiva, or Rivain."

"Give me a break, I was young. I had a crush on King Alistair. I made bad choices," Wren said.

"You had a- seriously?" Wolfson gave her an incredulous look. "That's why you went to Ferelden?"

"I had a crush, but _no_ , that's not why," Wren said, making a face. "Why do you _think_ I went to Ferelden instead of travelling all the way across the Marches north?" She rolled her eyes. "And leave off my teenage crushes, Wolfson. Like you had better taste. At least I had a crush on a dude that _saved Thedas_ and _ended a Blight_."

"And now you've met him," Wolfson said. He re-folded the cloth and took another pass across her cheek. "Was it everything you hoped it'd be?"

She sighed. "It could have gone better. I doubt he's at home writing his wife about how clever and charming I am and talking about asking me over for tea after she gets back."

"Big dreams there, Trevelyan. Tea and crumpets with the Ferelden royals," Wolfson said.

"Crumpets? Pssh. You can't surreptitiously feed a mabari a crumpet," Wren said. "We'd have to have something heartier than that."

"Since when are mabari involved?"

"It's _Ferelden_."

"A valid point," he said. He shoved the handkerchief into the snowbank and scrubbed snow onto it. He wiped down her face one last time with the dampened cloth, then nodded.

"I think that's as good as we'll get without a basin," Wolfson said. "The Commander is less likely to kill me now, anyway."

"Is he back from the Chantry?" Wren asked. She turned to look.

Wolfson nodded a bit to her left. "He's walking back now. Just spotted him by the gates."

"Should probably stop playing in the snow, then. He runs a tight ship," she said. She climbed to her feet and held her hand out for Wolfson. He grabbed her hand and let her pull him up.

"Maybe next time you could wear a helmet," Wolfson suggested. "I thought I'd killed you for a minute there."

"Yeah, maybe," she said.

"I've heard that tone before. That means 'not likely'."

Wren grinned at him. "They block my vision and hearing," she said. "How am I supposed to sneak up on anyone with a bucket on my head?"

Wolfson shook his head. "Thanks for the match, Trevelyan. It was good to fight you again."

"Any time," she said.  
  


* * *

   
"Commander, I know you want to be by the men, but if you stay in the Chantry with the rest of us, we can use that tent to house the latest recruits," Josephine wheedled. "We are out of tents, and out of room."

"I need to be where they can reach me easily. And besides, I should not have better accommodations than the troops," Cullen said.

Cassandra crossed her arms. "They know where the Chantry is. If comfort is the problem then we'll make you sleep on the floor instead of finding you a bed," she said.

"And you _should_ have better accommodations than the troops. You're the _Commander_ ," Leliana said impatiently.

Cullen sighed.

"Just give in, Commander," Leliana advised. "Pack your things."

He grumbled, but that night he laid his bedroll on a cot in the room Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra shared.

He tried not to be ungrateful for the place, but he found it difficult. It was too warm inside, and too quiet. There was nothing to distract him from his thoughts or from the pounding in his head. He'd secured a small lantern, but he had to keep it low to keep from waking the others. Worse, with no desk or table to hand, he couldn't work.

At least he had been able to finish reading over the last of the reports once the others had fallen asleep.

The Herald's trip to the Fallow Mire was going well - camps had been established and she'd made contact with a non-hostile Avaar who seemed to think this whole kidnapping was a ploy to draw the Herald into a battle for glory rather than the beginning of a major conflict with the Avaar themselves.

Her reports were short and to the point, but they came bundled with letters from Varric that were far more chatty. _In case you're wondering_ , Varric wrote, _the Herald is doing better. She says she was here before the last plague, and the main difference is that everyone here is undead now._

_"At least it smelled better then," I said._

_"No so's you'd notice," she said. Apparently rotting bear carcass doesn't smell much worse than dead people. There's a fact I never wanted to know._

He'd read the letters a few times, but as the rest of the long night stretched out before him, he dug through his bag to find "The Adventures of the Black Fox".

The book had become a comfort to him. He'd finished it some time ago, but kept coming back to it, reading favorite sections or going through the artifacts in the pages. Those were a story in themselves, told in pictures and notes and fingerprints, in pressed flowers and worn pages.

He flipped to the back of the book, to the last chapter. There were three notes in that section - two with snippets of song lyrics from old Marcher folk songs, and one covered in crudely drawn tiny birds. His favorite bird was one that was puffed up in annoyance, its little eyes glaring out in glossy black ink.

He remembered the messages they'd found on Wren back at the start, all signed with pictures of birds. Had these drawings been been practice for those? What had come first - the nickname, or the pictures?

Perhaps one day he would ask her.   
  


* * *

  
Wren was tired. No, more than that - exhausted.

She hadn't slept well since Redcliffe. What sleep she did manage was doing nothing but keeping her on her feet, and even that felt like a hard won victory.  She had managed to deal with the Fallow Mire, at least. Years ago, there'd been some living residents around. Now there wasn't a soul alive to distract you from the misery of the place.  Still, it was done now. Demons lured and destroyed, apostate dealt with, Avaar defeated, soldiers rescued, camps established, and half a dozen other little things picked up along the way. According to Leliana, Wren wouldn't have to go back again unless she felt a wild urge to spend time with the undead.

_Not bloody likely_ , Wren thought.

This was her third night back in Haven. As midnight neared, still no closer to sleep, she sat on the end of the dock over the frozen pond and watched the Breach's light reflecting off the ice.

"Herald?"

Wren turned.

At the other end of the dock, she saw a large figure. Her tired brain took far too long to pin the shape on Cullen.

"Commander. Something wrong?" Wren asked.

"No," Cullen said. "Not at all. What brings you out here so late?"

"Nothing in particular," Wren said. "What about you?"

"Just taking a break from work," he said. He hesitated by the shore. "Do you suppose- may I join you?" he asked.

She paused. "Sure," she said. "There's room enough."

The dock shook as he walked down it toward her. She turned away as he drew close, going back to looking at the lights as he sat down next to her.

"Awfully late to still be working," Wren said.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He smiled a bit ruefully, looking out at the iced over pond.

"Perhaps," he said. "I admit, since they badgered me into moving into the Chantry the Ambassador has been quite persistent about my 'taking breaks' and 'sleeping'."

Wren chuckled. The sound seemed to relax him, letting him settle more into place, and a soft smile crossed his face. She found herself smiling in return. Maker, but she did like his face. The angle of his jaw, the line of his nose, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes-

She closed her eyes for a moment. _That is enough of that, Trevelyan._

"You aren't sleeping lately either, are you?" he asked.

Wren chuckled. "Sounds like Josephine isn't winning these arguments you're having," she said.

Cullen leaned back on his hands.

"Even Cassandra says I work too much," he admitted. "Maybe I do."

"It seems likely," Wren said. "I've never seen you idle. Don't you ever have a drink with your men? Chat up a Chantry sister?"

Cullen chuckled. "Maker, no."

"Never?"

"I never chat up Chantry sisters," he said. "I suppose I have been known to have a drink on occasion."

"I've never seen you at the tavern," Wren said. "But I suppose I'm not there very often myself."

"So, Herald. Why aren't _you_ sleeping?" Cullen asked.

_So much for deflecting._ "At first it was Redcliffe," she said. "Now, who knows."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She laid back on the dock. It was cold, but that was almost a good thing. She felt too warm altogether, despite the weather.

"I think it just wants time," Wren said. "But if I think of something, I'll let you know."

He nodded. "I understand," he said.

To her surprise, she didn't doubt that he did, somehow.

Silence settled around them, though not unpleasantly. Wren looked up at the Breach and watched it ripple through the clouds. It was almost peaceful, in its way. If it didn't mean the end of the world, she could see herself getting used to it up there.

"It reminds me of the mark," Wren said, gesturing up toward the sky. "Or maybe the mark reminds me of the Breach. I don't really know which came first."

"I don't think any of us do," Cullen said. He paused. "Do they look similar?"

Wren sat up. She tugged at the fingers of her left glove, then pulled it off and laid her left hand on her knee, palm up.

Cullen sat up as well, leaning over to look. The mark was brilliant, like an aurora held within her hand. The light was never still, moving in waves along her palm. At times it looked as though it had burned right through her hand, as though her leg were visible on the other side of the light.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.

She curled her fingers, then flattened them again.

"Sometimes," she said.

Wren closed her eyes. Carefully, she peeled away the shielding around the mark. The light in her palm flared brightly for a moment, like a fire given fuel, and pain hit her in a wave as the magic within it raced through her.

She opened her eyes. "It makes my fingers feel numb," she said, trying not to grit her teeth. "It feels… like I've grabbed a bolt of lightning. It burns, but not like fire. It's cold, but not like ice."

"It flashed," Cullen said. "Is it reacting to the Breach?"

"It might be," she said. "It's probably brighter because I stopped blocking it."

Cullen looked up from her hand. "You can block it?" he asked. "How?"

"Basic Templar blocking skills. They teach you to block magic years before you start taking lyrium, but after the vigil everyone seems to forget about that," she said. "I'm sure it'd be more effective if I did have the lyrium, but even without it I can do enough for this."

He looked back at her hand. "It's been so long," he said. "I remember the training to negate magic, but there was always the lyrium along with it." He paused, frowning. "Though now that I think about it, the motions were… familiar, even at the start. We _must_ have learned something about it before then."

He shook his head. "Does blocking it keep you from being able to close rifts?" he asked.

"No. I don't block the mark itself, just its effects on me," Wren said. "Maybe that seems like a strange distinction, but it matters. I tried to just seal it entirely off at the start, but it didn't work. There's too much magic in it."

"Why did you stop blocking it just now?" Cullen looked at her. His voice was a bit quieter. "It's hurting you."

"I wanted to be able to answer your question honestly," Wren said. "I don't check on it as often as I probably should. I should know if it's changing."

"Is today particularly bad?" he asked.

"It is," Wren said. "Maybe because we're so close to the Breach. It reacts to rifts at times. Maybe it's responding to whatever is in the Fade on the other side."

"Is it difficult to block it again?" he asked.

Wren looked down at the mark. "It shouldn't be," she said. "I just need to focus."

"How do you- I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry," Cullen said. "I know how I block magic, and you said it was similar."

"I know how my body ought to feel," Wren said. "It's a matter of finding where that changes and pushing back against it. The mark likes to send out runners, to try and take more of me than it should. I push it into my palm, then seal the edges around it. Not to seal it in, but to seal myself away from it. Does that make sense?"

Cullen nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "I think I know what you mean."

"I don't know how you were taught, but for us, there was a lot of 'remember that the magic isn't supposed to be there, and make it not be there' in our training. I sort of apply that to myself." She shrugged. "I chant something in my head over and over to keep focused," she said.

"Do you say the same thing every time?" he asked.

Wren was quiet a moment, then said, "The last line of the Canticle of Victoria, 1:3."

Cullen murmured, "Let chaos be undone."

"You _were_ a good Chantry boy," Wren said. She smiled at him with a subtle shake of her head.

Cullen cleared his throat. "I studied," he said.

She closed her eyes. _Let chaos be undone._

Her world narrowed to the feeling of the mark, the edges where she could sense it taking over. She shored up behind them and began to push against it.

_Let chaos be undone._

The light flared as she persisted, shoving it toward that point on her palm. Inside her body the mark was like a panicked rabbit, trying to avoid the trap ahead.

_Let chaos be undone._

There was an ease as it gave in and flowed back to its origin point, pooling in her palm. Her shoulders relaxed as her blocking pushed through and fell back into place around the mark.

"Now her hand is raised," Wren said quietly. "A sword to pierce the sun. With iron shield she defends the faithful - let chaos be undone."

She opened her eyes. The light in her palm was quiet now, undulating slowly within its shielded vessel. She watched it while she steadied her breathing, feeling sensation return to her numb fingers.

"It does look like the Breach," Cullen said softly.

She looked over at him. For a moment, their eyes locked, and she held her breath.

"Could I ask you something?" he said.

"Mmm," she said, nodding once.

"Why did you leave the Order?"

She exhaled, a rough sort of sigh. A memory of a darkened Chantry washed over her. She could hear the rattling breath that echoed off its broken walls, feel warm hands holding hers.

_Be free, little bird._

"It was something I had to do," she said. She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and hugging her knees to her chest. "Someday maybe I can tell you about it, but… it wasn't a choice I made lightly."

She could feel him watching her, but she couldn't bring herself to look back.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

"No," she said immediately. "I never have."

He nodded.

"Do you?" Wren asked, finally looking over. "Regret leaving, I mean."

He thought about it a moment before shaking his head. "No," he said. "I cannot say it has been easy, but it was the right thing to do."

She uncurled a bit, one leg slipping from under her arms to dangle back over the edge of the dock.

"We'll have to close the Breach soon," she said. "I'm thinking day after tomorrow."

"That soon?" he asked.

"It feels late," she said ruefully. "I ought to have moved on it sooner."

"Herald, if there's anything I can do-" he said.

She started to shake her head, then stopped. "Actually, there _is_ something," she said.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Don't call me Herald," she said. "Not when we aren't at work. I understand why everyone does it, but I don't…"

She unwrapped her arms and let her other leg fall back down onto the dock.

"That's not who I am," she said. "You could try using my name instead. I'd like it more."

He nodded slowly. "All right," he said.

Wren smiled, just a bit.

"You say that a lot at the war table," she said. "Every time I suggest something, you just agree."

"I suppose I do," he said.

"I'll try not to take advantage of you," she said. Once the words were out of her mouth, she felt herself flush. **_Maker_** , _that sounded dirty_. 

Cullen chuckled. "You couldn't," he said. There was something pleasingly rumbly about that chuckle, and it made her feel fluttery. _Oh,_ she thought, _but I wish I could._

"Thanks for coming out to check on me, Commander," Wren said. "You should probably get to bed, though. The others will notice you're gone before much longer. Besides, I have it on good authority that there's going to be a war table meeting in the morning."

"I suspect you're right," he said. "Though… if I'm to use your name, perhaps you could use mine as well."

"Cullen, then," she said, low, like it was a secret she was keeping for him.

She thought she saw him shiver, just a moment. "Wren," he said. "Thank you for this."

"For what?"

"Speaking with me. I- enjoy your company," he said.

She smiled. "You don't have to thank me," she said. "I enjoy yours just as well."

He stood and brushed a bit of snow off the fur of his surcote. "Are you coming back to Haven?" he asked. "I could walk you back."

Wren paused, then nodded. "I would like that," she said. "Let's go. Maybe we'll both get some rest tonight yet."


	10. Chapter 10

Her head still ached from where it'd bounced off the rocks at the Temple, but as the healers had said, she was going to live. Still, it all felt unreal. The skies swirled, but there was no green light there in the darkness.

Wren sat on the ledge above the fire, listening to Maryden pick out a tune for the others. There was dancing and drinking and laughing all around her, but closing the Breach left her feeling strange and numb. It felt as though the celebration was happening just beyond a window and she was still on the other side, unable to touch it.

When she heard the footsteps behind her, she turned and watched Cassandra walk over.

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm," Cassandra said. "The Breach is sealed."

"Mmm," Wren said. She turned to look back at the sky. "It doesn't feel over," she said.

"We have reports of lingering rifts," Cassandra said. "Perhaps that is what you sense. We do not know what that mark on your hand does to you."

"Don't you feel it?" Wren asked. "An ominous feeling, like something is around the corner."

Cassandra sat beside Wren on the wall.

"I do," she said. "But I am trying to take our victory, for now." She raised an eyebrow. "Word of your heroism has spread," she said.

Wren rolled her eyes, which seemed to be exactly what Cassandra expected. Cassandra's smile was subtle, but there.

" _We_ all did this," Wren said. "I don't want to go down as the Hawke in this story."

"So you _have_ read Varric's book."

"I read it while we were at the Fallow Mire. Seemed the least I could do."

They both looked up at the sound of bells in the distance. Shouting rang across the valley.

"I wanted to be wrong," Wren breathed.

"It may be nothing," Cassandra said. "But…"

She and Wren scrambled to their feet, hands to weapons.

"Forces approaching! To arms!" Cullen yelled as he ran toward them down the hill.

Both women charged after him, with others not long behind.

"What's happening?" Sera asked.

"I don't know," Wren said. She slowed her run as she reached Cullen.

"Cullen?" Cassandra asked.

"One watch guard reporting," he said. "It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked, rushing over with Leliana.

"None," Cullen said.

"None?" Josephine asked, incredulous. "But that-"

Wren walked away from them, frowning at a distant sound. Heavy footsteps, just on the other side of the wall. They drew nearer, and the gate shook. A desperate voice on the other side cried out, "We can't come in unless you open!"

She headed for the gates.

"Herald, don't-" Cullen said.

She grabbed the handles and pulled. Wolfson and Rylen pushed forward to help her pull the doors open, and Wren stepped through.

A massive man in armor stood there, weapon at the ready. He reached up to swing, then fell at Wren's feet, dead. Behind him, a slight young man in patchwork clothes and a large hat looked up at her, bloodied blades in hand.

Wren rushed forward, and Cullen swore, chasing after her.

"It's safe," the young man said, looking behind him. "Hurry, the gates are open now." He looked at Wren as she reached his side. "I'm Cole," he said. "I- _we_ came to warn you."

"We?" Wren asked.

From behind the rocks, a handful of Templars emerged, battered and tired. She recognised one of them as a young man she'd last seen in Val Royeaux. He looked somewhat the worse for wear, and smelled heavily of lyrium.

"Herald," he said. "We've come from Therinfal, myself and the last of the unchanged Templars."

"'Unchanged'?" Wren asked.

Cole gestured toward the mountains beyond. "People are coming to hurt you," he said. "I came to warn you, to help. They needed help too, so I brought them."

"I don't understand," Wren said. "Who's coming? What happened?" She leaned in closer to Cole.

"The Templars have come to kill you," Cole said. "Not these ones, the others."

"Templars!" Cullen said. "Is this the Order's response to our alliance with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One," Cole said. He turned to Wren. "You know him. He knows you. You took his mages."

Wren's body went cold. Cole pointed to a ridge, where figures had begun to collect.

"Get me a glass," Cullen said. A scout ran up with a spyglass and handed it over. He looked through, then swore.

"What is that _thing_?" he asked. "Is that the Elder One? And- wait." He looked closer. "Is that... Samson? Maker, what has he done to those men?"

Wren reached over, and Cullen handed her the glass. She looked through to the ridge. A huge figure, twisted and pulled, human but inhuman, monstrous and angry stared directly at her as if he knew she could see him.

"He's _very_ angry that you took his mages," Cole said.

Wren tore her gaze away from him, looking instead at the man Cullen had called Samson. He had sunken eyes and a bitterly pleased expression as he directed his forces through the valley toward Haven. _And those forces_ , she thought. Templars, hundreds of them, most with spikes of red lyrium jutting from their armor. _From their bodies? No, no, not like Redcliffe, please._

"Cullen," Wren said, handing the glass back, "Give me a plan."

"Haven is no fortress," he said. "If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle."

"Change the field," Wren said. She looked at the trebuchets. "Throw them off."

"Hit them with everything you can," Cullen said, nodding. He looked around. "Mages! Soldiers! You have sanction to engage them! That is Samson, he will not make this easy. Give it everything you have. All of you, with the Herald! For our lives, for all of us!" he bellowed.

The troops spilled from the gates, weapons to hand. Blackwall and Sera ran to join Wren and Cole at the front.

"Who's this?" Sera asked.

"I'm Cole," he said. "I came to help."

"Introductions later!" Blackwall said. "Herald, what's the plan?"

"The plan is we turn these trebuchets and bring the mountain down on the army," Wren said. "Hold them off while I deal with the trebuchets. I've done it before."

"When?" Sera asked, drawing an arrow.

"In training. I'll tell you about it some other time," Wren said. She ran for the controls as Sera let her first arrow fly.

The battle roared around them. The Red Templars, as Cole had called them, fought almost blindly. They had to be killed once they were engaged - nothing less than that would stop them. They barely seemed to notice injuries.

Wren cranked the trebuchets, turning them and winding them back, eyeing the bank of snow above the valley. When she was satisfied with her first one, she grabbed one of the Inquisition soldiers. "Stay here," she said. "On my call, throw this lever. Only do it before then to save your life."

"I will wait for your word," he said. "Nothing less."

Wren ran for the second trebuchet, repeating the process again. When she had it prepared, she turned back and yelled, "Fire first trebuchet!"

"Firing!" the man yelled. He threw the switch. The payload flew over the troops, crashing into the rocks. One of the Red Templars near Wren laughed.

She adjusted the second trebuchet a little, then cut down the laughing Templar. She grabbed a scout. "You," she said. "Stay by this lever. When I call-"

"I'll throw the switch," she said. "Yes."

"Good."

"Hurry!" Sera yelled as they reached the third trebuchet. "There's too many, we're going to be overrun!"

"Going as fast as I can!" Wren said. She cranked the winch, adjusting, then yelled, "Fire second trebuchet!"

"Firing!" the scout called. Seconds later, the payload hit, shaking the snow.

"One more," Wren muttered. She shoved the aim over, cranked one more time, then threw the switch.

The flaming stone hit, shaking the weakened bank. An avalanche roared down the mountain, crashing through the trees. Snow buried the road, buried those below, crushing the Red Templars under the weight. The troops around her cheered.

"Back to Haven!" Wren yelled. "We can't be sure-"

A roar louder than the avalanche drowned out her words. Overhead, a massive dragon swooped down, bellowing fire. The nearest trebuchet took the brunt of the fireball and exploded into shards of wood and metal.

"Run!" Wren yelled. "Grab the wounded and get to the gates, now!"

She rounded them up, the dragon strafing along the walls beside her. 

"Herald!" 

Wren stopped and turned sharply. "Harritt!" she yelled. "Where are you?" 

"At the forge! Help me!" Harritt yelled. 

The roof of the smithy was on fire and going up fast. Crates had toppled in front of the side door, blocking the only access. Harritt was trying to shove them away, barely giving heed to the dragon. 

Wren cursed. "Blackwall! I'm calling in that heavy object favor!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Help me!" 

He was at her side immediately, matching her step for step to where Harritt was struggling with the crate. "Get back!" Wren said.

Harritt didn't question her - he ducked out of the way quickly. Blackwall swung his sword down with a roar, splintering it. He shoved the shards out of the way, and Wren wrenched the smithy door open with a growl. 

"Thank you Herald!" Harritt said, racing inside the burning building. 

"Don't die, Harritt!" Wren called after him. She looked at Blackwall and waved toward the gates. "Keep moving," she said. "Help the wounded, bring them in."

"As you command," Blackwall said. "Be quick, Herald."

She waited for Harritt, holding the door open. "Hurry!" she shouted. "There isn't much time!" 

Harritt raced out the door past her, a sack held tight in his arms. "Thank you," he said, breathing heavily as he ran. She fell in behind him, eyes sharp for stragglers.

"You owe me one," she said. "I don't want to hear shit about my armor for at least a week."

"You got it," he said.

Wren was last through the gates, brushing past Cullen just before he pulled the heavy doors closed.

"Don't know why I'm bothering," he said. "Dragons can fly."

"Templars can't," Wren said. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" he said. "There isn't a plan." He turned to the troops. "We need everyone back to the Chantry," he yelled. "It's the only building we have that might hold against that... beast." He looked at Wren, frustrated. "At this point, just make them work for it," he said.

He grabbed one of the wounded Templars and helped the man toward the Chantry.

Wren looked around. Haven was _burning_. _Make them work for it? How?_

"Herald!" Sera yelled, appearing at Wren's elbow. "Our people need help! We can't stand around!"

Wren jolted from inaction. "You're right," she said. "Come on, Sera. Lead the way."

"Over here!" Sera ran off to the side, and Wren followed. Blackwall fell in soon after, with Dorian at his heels.

"Dorian?" Wren said. 

"I can't let you have all the fun," he said. "Besides, your odd little friend disappeared."

The four of them worked their way around Haven, pulling survivors from rubble and fighting back the Red Templars that swarmed their way over the walls. One by one they sent people to the Chantry, until there was no one left outside. The doors opened, and Chancellor Roderick waved them in.

"Move," he said, voice wobbling. "Keep going. The Chantry is your- shelter." He stumbled, and Cole moved to catch him.

"Chancellor," Wren said. She grabbed his other arm, helping Cole lift the old man.

"He tried to stop a Templar," Cole said matter-of-factly. "The blade went deep. He's going to die."

"What a- charming boy," Roderick said. Wren could feel the shudder in his body. His voice- _blood in his lungs. Cole's right._

"Herald." Cullen loped down the hall toward them. "Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

She helped Roderick sit, then slipped from under his arm and stood in front of Cullen.

"I've seen an arch-demon," Cole said. "I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

"I'm not a Warden," Wren said. "If that thing's an arch-demon, we can't stand against it."

"It doesn't matter," Cullen said. "Whatever it is, it's cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven."

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole said, shaking his head. "He only wants the Herald."

"Then he can have me," Wren said immediately. "I'll go." She took a step backward.

"No!" Sera said, grabbing her arm. "Don't be stupid."

"It won't save them anyway," Cole said. "He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he'll crush them, kill them anyway."

"Because we're in his way," Wren said.

"Yes," Cole said. He sounded sad. "I don't like him."

"You don't like-" Cullen threw up his hands. He turned to look at Wren. "Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable," he said. "The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide, but that's all we have left." 

"We're overrun," Wren said. "To hit them, we'd bury Haven. That's just slow suicide." 

"We're dying, but we can decide how," Cullen said. He looked at her with sad determination. "Many don't get that choice." 

A familiar and terrible weight settled over her. 

"I know," she said, stomach clenching with both memory and reality. "I know." 

"Yes," Cole said softly. "That." He looked up at Wren. "Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies," Cole said. 

Wren turned to them and waited. 

"There is a path. You wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me." Roderick staggered to his feet. "Andraste must have shown me, so I could tell you," he wheezed. 

He leaned toward Wren, almost pleading. She stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder to brace him, and his hand rose to grasp her arm. Blood from his wound stained the leather under his fingers, and he pressed his other hand to his side.

"A path," Wren said. She turned her head and looked at Cullen. "Can you get them out?" 

"We can try," he said. "But what of your escape?" 

Wren looked at Roderick, squeezed his shoulder gently, then looked toward the Chantry door. "Cole," she said. "Take the Chancellor. Help him lead the way."

Cole stepped up and under her arm. She slid Roderick's hand gently off her arm and around Cole's shoulder. 

"Wren," Cullen said. _Maker,_ she'd never heard anyone say her name like that before. Like it _hurt_. 

She turned. 

"Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way-" he said. 

Wren looked at him, really looked. She tried to memorize him - his eyes, the line of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the scar on his lip, the width of his chin. His eyes, the color of a flame through a green glass lantern. His voice. The way he rested his hands on the pommel of his sword.

When the time came, when she closed her eyes... she wanted to be able to call him into her mind.

She didn't want to go into the darkness alone. 

She nodded once. "Go," she said. "Hurry." 

She didn't want to identify the emotion that crossed his face before he turned to the soldiers in the hall. 

"Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!" he ordered, marching them down the long hall away from her. 

"Herald," Roderick said, "if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this - I pray for you." 

"Save our people, Chancellor," she said. "May Andraste guide you." 

Some few men ran out the Chantry doors, with Cullen right behind them. He stopped in the hall, watching them disappear into the town. 

"They'll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the treeline," he said. 

Wren nodded. "I'll send them back as quickly as I can," she said. She started toward the doors after them. When her hand hit the doors, she heard Cullen speak behind her. 

"Wren. If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance - let that thing hear you," Cullen said.

She wanted to have something wise to say, something brave and good and inspirational - but there was nothing. All she had was the task at hand. 

She pushed the doors open and disappeared into the storm.  
  


* * *

  
It didn't hurt anymore. That was probably a bad sign.

Wren closed her eyes against the stinging snow and forced her frozen body to keep moving. The crunch underfoot sounded loud, despite the howling wind around her. It was bitterly cold, but she'd stopped shivering.

Another bad sign.

She hadn't been able to move her left arm since she'd woken, and at least one of her ribs was broken. She'd used up her only healing potion while she'd been underground, and the fact that it had done nothing for most of her injuries told her how near she'd been to death.

Corypheus had done something to the Mark, changed it somehow. She had to work harder to block it, and the new power it had developed made it hungry for more of her. The effort was exhausting, but she was afraid to stop.

In every way, she needed to keep going.

Every cold fire pit she found was evidence that the others had made it. She could move faster alone than a large group could together, she had to believe that. If she kept going, she'd catch up with them.

Another step. Another. Hadn't she done years of training? Hadn't she worked until she'd dropped, day after day? _This is nothing_ , Wren told herself. _I've lived through worse._

Crunch. Crunch. Ahead, another fire circle.

She trudged a few more steps and stopped. She reached out toward the abandoned fire pit.

_Warm_. It was _warm_. She buried her gloved hands in the ashes, the heat stinging and hurting but the feeling was so much better than the nothing from before that she stayed in place until she knew she was in danger of forgetting how to walk. She grabbed fat handfuls of the warm ashes and carried them as she moved on.

There - a chokepoint in the rocks. It would cut the wind, if she could get in the right spot. The ashes cooled in her hands and she let them slip from her grasp as she forced her legs to keep moving. The snow was deeper here, mounded up by the wind. Each step meant throwing her body weight around, trying to leverage everything she had to keep moving forward.

Was that a light ahead? Voices? Was she hallucinating now? Perhaps this truly was it. Perhaps she was dying. _No, not yet, please-_

She stumbled. She didn't have the energy to cry out as she fell to her knees in the snow. She closed her eyes and tried to remember faces. Voices. Something to give her strength. She called up Cullen's face, trying to pull it into her mind.

"There!" she heard a voice yell. _Cullen? No, this isn't real._

"Thank the Maker!" A different voice, not one she'd have invented. _Cassandra._ A fierce hope started clawing its way through her.

The sound of footsteps on snow sounded strange, as if her ears were full of cotton. She realized her head had fallen forward, almost level with the snow as she'd struggled. She opened her eyes again, trying to focus. _Raise your head._ _Get up, get up._

She fought against the snow, giving everything she had to struggle to her feet one last time. The wind cut through the rocks, and she nearly fell back again. Her eyes closed against the stinging snow. _I can't do this again, I can't-_

Hands reached out and caught her, held her up, at the front of her, to the side. Bodies blocked the wind and driving snow, letting her open her eyes again. She blinked until she could trace the lines of the hands holding her up. Thick leather gloves. Plate armor to the front. Leather and steel to the side. Familiar shapes.

"Cullen," she said.

She'd seen his face when she was alone at the bottom of that pit, wooden beams digging into her, breath ragged behind her broken ribs. She'd closed her eyes and remembered, just as she'd hoped she would. The fact that she couldn't make her eyes focus on him now made her more certain this was real. If it was just a dream, she knew she'd be able to see him clearly, like before.

She turned to look toward the second figure. "Cassandra," she said. "You made it."

"Yes," Cassandra said. Relief lightened her voice. "We all did, thanks to you."

"Good," Wren said. She closed her eyes again as her head spun. "Good."

She swayed on her feet, but Cullen and Cassandra held her fast, keeping her on her feet.

"She can't walk like this," Cassandra said. "Can you…?"

"Of course," Cullen said. He bent and picked Wren up, lifting her out of the snow entirely and holding her like a tired child against his chest. She sent silent thanks to Harritt for building this armor with a strong chest plate - it hadn't broken before, and now it kept her weight from pressing on her broken ribs as she fell limp against Cullen.

"Hold on around his neck," Cassandra said. "Can you do that?"

Wren wanted to object to being carried, but he was so warm, so very warm, and she was-

"She's freezing," Cullen said.

She looped the arm she could still lift around his neck and dug her fingers into the fur around his surcoat, trying to lift herself up higher. He braced her against him, one arm under her backside, one holding her to his chest, then hoisted her up a bit more. She slumped forward to bury her face into the fur around his neck, breathing shallow.

"Hurry," Cassandra said. "We can help her back at camp."

Cullen started walking, quickly as he could with the wind and the added dead weight. Wren tucked her face in closer, hiding it against him. She wrapped her legs loosely around his hips, and he adjusted his grip to hold her closer.

"We made it out of Haven before you set off the trebuchet," Cassandra said. "It was very close, but you gave us enough time."

Wren hummed her approval into Cullen's shoulder. She turned her face toward his neck, away from the wind.

"I tried," she said. "I'm glad it worked. This probably counts as weird, though. I think that means I owe Varric a sovereign."

Cullen laughed, but it was a rough sound, more relief than humor. He repeated what she'd said for Cassandra, who snorted.

"It probably does," Cassandra agreed.

A cold wind slipped around the rock face, making everyone stagger. Wren buried her face in the surcoat again. The wind cut through her armor and she started to shake. _Finally_ , she thought. _Maybe I won't die after all._

When the wind died back again, Cassandra took off her cloak and settled it over Wren's shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head and tucking it in around her body. She left Cullen's arms under the cloak, shaking her head at him when he started to move them.

"Just keep holding on to her," Cassandra said. "This will be good enough."

It was darker and warmer under the cloak. Wren couldn't stop the shaking, but she felt better knowing she was alive enough to do it. She turned her face into Cullen's neck and breathed in the smell of the campfire smoke that permeated his clothes. There was also an undercurrent of something dark and earthy, like a dense Ferelden forest. It was strangely reassuring. 

They started moving again, and the warmth seeped into Wren's body. She could hear the sounds of camp drawing closer, the movement of people and animals. Any minute now they would reach the campfires, and the people of Haven.

_Maker_ , she couldn't let them see her like this. It would scare them, and anyone that survived that mess needed strength.

"I want to walk into camp," Wren said.

Cullen's arms tightened around her. "What?" he said.

"I don't want them thinking he beat us," Wren said.

Cullen's pace faltered. "Maker," he whispered, mostly to himself.

"It _matters_ ," Wren said.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

He stopped walking and carefully let her slip down onto her feet again. There was relatively little snow here, to Wren's great relief. _Only a few more feet to go before the edge of camp_ , she noted.

Cullen held onto her a moment, waiting to see if she could stand. She placed her hands on his arms, just for a second, then let him go and turned away.

Wren dropped her shoulders, lifted her head, tipped up her chin, and walked toward camp. Her armor was spattered in blood anywhere the snow hadn't scrubbed it, her leather gloves were covered in ash, and she shook like a new calf - but she walked under her own power into camp.  
  


* * *

  
The moment they were in the healer's tent she collapsed without a whimper. Cullen caught her as she fell, a wash of fear rushing over him when she barely reacted. He laid her down on a cot and put his hand on her forehead. Her skin was cold and damp.

Mother Giselle gently shooed him away.

"I will tend to her," she said. "You have other duties."

She closed the tent behind him, leaving him to pace and worry.

He could still feel the weight of Wren against his chest, the nudge of her cold nose against the side of his neck. Ashy handprints were pressed into the front of his surcoat, and dug into the fur behind his neck. It was almost reassuring; evidence that they had found her, that she was alive.

The tent was utterly quiet behind him. He almost wished she would cry out. She would be fine, wouldn't she? Mother Giselle was a skilled healer. They had dozens of mages, apothecaries, and healers. The way people were milling around, there'd be no end of volunteers to help.

They couldn't find her just to lose her.

He kept remembering her face in the Chantry. There had been these flashes as they'd spoken, little signs of sadness, of loss - but not fear. She had never hesitated, even knowing she was likely to die. Maker, she'd even sent his men back through the Chantry with her own team, demanding everyone else get out and save themselves.

When hours had passed after the second avalanche with no sign of Wren in the distance, the already shaken mood in camp had taken on an edge of despair.

He'd been staggered by the loss. She'd looked right at him and he'd known - she didn't think she was coming back. There had been something in her eyes at that last moment… but she had done it. She had looked at death and walked toward it, to save them.

_Maker, please let her be safe._

"Commander."

He turned quickly.

Mother Giselle stood at the front of the tent.

"She is sleeping now. The worst of her wounds have been healed. I thought you would like to know." She smiled. "So that you can tell the others, of course."

"Yes, I- thank you, Mother Giselle," he said. "I will do that now."  
  


* * *

  
Varric sidled up to her, walking beside her through the snow at the front of the force.

"You know, Birdy," he said. "You're the singer, yet half of Haven sang for you before you sang for any of us."

Wren chuckled. "That's true," she said. "Are you starting to doubt me, Varric?"

"Just an observation," he said.

"I don't sing on caravan jobs," Wren said. "The goal is to be unremarkable. You want to move fast and stay safe. Singing is the kind of thing that'll get you noticed." She gestured behind her, to the dozens of people that followed. "This is the largest caravan job I've ever taken," she said.

"Maybe if this place we're looking for really exists, you could make some time for it," Varric said. "I think going unnoticed is a bit of a lost cause at this point."

"You might be right about that," she said.

He looked a bit more seriously at her. "Do the things you love while you can," he said. "You never know what's coming."

Wren nodded slowly.

"Also," he said, "you owe me a sov."


	11. Chapter 11

They had been walking for days. They'd caught a stretch of clear weather, but she wasn't foolish enough to think it would last. Still, Solas was certain they were headed in the right direction, and Wren trusted him. She pushed on, always at the front, often far enough ahead to climb to high ground and keep a sharp eye on the refugees that followed her. Often she'd climb down and find a scout to run to check on anyone she saw struggling.

They had lost so many in Haven. She did not want to lose more.

Another ridge up ahead showed signs of being a good vantage point, this time not for looking over the people, but at the route ahead. They were coming up to a rise, and she worried about the fall that would follow. Anything too steep would stop progress for hours, if not the rest of the day, while she found another route.

She picked up the pace and headed for the tall rocks.

"May I join you, Herald?" she heard behind her.

She turned and waited. "Of course," she said. Solas marched quickly to catch up, then walked beside her when she turned to continue toward the ridge.

The sun was bright as she approached, shining off the snow and half-blinding her at first. She held up her arm to block the glare, seeing a shadow just ahead that looked strange against the snow. She fell back to press against the tall stones nearby, pulling Solas with her.

When her vision cleared, she gasped.

Not even one day's walk ahead of them was a massive fort, nearly more like a castle. Stone towers seemed to grow from the mountain itself. She could nearly make out flagpoles, still flying flags she couldn't identify. A long bridge stretched from a checkpoint to the castle itself - a good place to hold off enemies. She could make out a track of wide, flat snow leading from the checkpoint back toward them.

"Skyhold," Solas said.

She barely noticed that she was still holding his arm, struck utterly dumb by the sight. "It's beautiful," she breathed. She turned and looked at Solas. "You knew this was here. You've saved us," she said.

" _You_ led us here, Herald," Solas said.

She looked at him and shook her head. "All I did was stand at the front. You told me which way to go."

"But how will this story be told?" Solas asked. "You are already the chosen of their god, brought back from death itself, and now you have led them to safety." 

She looked at Skyhold, then back at Solas.

"Is that what you want? That story to be the one they tell? We can try to change that, get out ahead of it," she said. "We both know the first story will be the one spread."

"It may be better if they believe it was you," Solas said. "They would forgive you if the castle is cold and the travel hard. They would curse me for the same things."

"Still…" She loosened her hold on his arm. "If that's what you want, I'll let them say what they will. You and I know the truth, at least."

"Thank you," Solas said.

"Thank _you_ , Solas," she said. She looked back toward the people, closer now than before. "How would I say that in Elvish? ‘Thank you'?"

" _Ma serannas_ ," Solas said.

" _Ma serannas_ ," Wren repeated, mimicking his intonations carefully. " _Ma serannas_ , Solas."

"You are welcome, Little Bird."  
  


* * *

  
Cullen woke up with a crick in his neck and one arm half numb. There was no sound of the horses, and his bedroll had been replaced with his surcoat. Where…

He opened his eyes. Above him, a stone ceiling seemed impossibly far away. For a moment, he wondered why he hadn't changed into sleeping clothes, why his cot felt so strange, but then a wave of memory washed over him. No, he wasn't in Haven. There was no Haven.

 _The fortress._ Wren had come running yesterday morning, calling for a party. Over the next ridge was a huge edifice, she said, easily large enough to hold all of them and then some. It seemed impossible, but when they'd rushed to look, there it was. She'd grabbed Solas, Cassandra, and Varric and the three of them had gone on ahead. A few hours later, they'd returned with good news - other than a few spiders, the fortress was empty. They could move in without a fight.

He stretched, trying to get feeling back into his tired limbs. As night had worn on Josephine and Leliana had made a path to an intact room inside the fort itself and set it up as a kind of base camp. They'd dragged him in there to sleep there after catching him wobbling on his feet near midnight. The old couch they'd found hadn't made the most comfortable bed, but he'd slept worse places. Besides which, he had _slept_ , a rare event in any case but especially surprising considering the circumstances.

His arm started to tingle in protest of movement, and he rolled to his side.

Leliana delicately cleared her throat, drawing his attention. Cullen looked around and spotted her sitting on some crates by a stack of furniture, already reading over reports from her agents. She caught his eye, then pointed to the floor next to him.

"Careful," Leliana said quietly.

He looked down.

The Herald was lying on the floor right next to the couch, tangled up in at least two tattered blankets. She was on her back, breathing shallowly and barely moving. _Broken ribs_ , he remembered. She'd accepted only a bit of healing every day, wanting most of the supplies and efforts to go toward the others. It was likely she was still sore. Her arms were crossed over her face, shielding her eyes from the morning sun. 

Cullen considered his options. Could he climb over her? Possibly, but it would be difficult, and if he slipped, a disaster. Could he go over the ends of the couch? He sat up and looked. Stacks of bags blocked one end, and tables blocked the other. He leaned over the back of the couch to check that direction, but Sera was there, curled up and snoring.

He was surrounded. He laid back down. Another ten minutes, perhaps, and he'd try moving the bags.

"Sleep well?" Leliana asked.

"Well enough," he said quietly. "How have things been overnight?"

"Good," she said. "I have been able to make contact with my agents in Orlais and Ferelden. We are far from the only ones affected by this new threat, I'm afraid. Red Templars have sprung up like weeds since our escape from Haven. There will be much to do."

Movement caught his attention. Wren stretched, reaching her arms up and dropping them away from her face. She kicked restlessly at the blankets, managing to free one leg before settling back down.

Cullen leaned over the edge of the couch, looking down at her.

By Mother Giselle's accounting, Wren had staggered into camp with a dislocated left shoulder, four cracked or broken ribs, and damaged lungs from the smoke. Wren had at least one head injury, multiple lacerations, and extensive soft tissue damage. He got the distinct impression that there had been more besides.

But she _lived._

There was no warning before Wren's eyes opened, not a sigh or a twitch. Between one breath and the next she was awake and staring up at him, her green eyes pinning him in place. Even in the bright morning light they were as deep and dark as a pine forest. He barely breathed, feeling as if he were waiting on the edge of the trees, unsure what lived within.

She reached up and touched the tip of his nose with her finger. She pushed it, just slightly.

"Hi," she said quietly, dropping her hand back down.

"Hello," he said.

She smiled in a sleepy sort of way, and he felt his heart give a traitorous flutter in his chest.

"Did you sleep well, Herald?" he asked.

"It's too early for me to be the Herald," Wren said. "The Herald only shows up after I'm wearing pants."

"Are you not wearing pants?" Cullen asked. He gestured toward her freed leg.

Wren looked down at her leg - indeed, clad in a borrowed pair of Sera's plaidweave pants - and sighed.

"You win this round, _pants_ ," she said.

"Good morning, Herald," Leliana said.

Wren sat up, stretching as she did. Her blankets fell to her waist, and Cullen froze.

_Maker._

Her arms, shoulders, and back were all crossed with dark, angry bruises. Her left shoulder in particular was deep purple, barely fading at the edges to something more reddish. It looked as though something had lifted her up and then thrown her down onto stones to break her. If it still looked this bad now...

"Morning, Leliana," Wren said. "Nothing is on fire yet, right?"

"Not yet," Leliana said. "Though you may wish to let the Commander off the couch soon. He can hardly oversee repair efforts from there."

"Oh! I'm sorry," Wren said. She slid away from the couch, making room for Cullen to move. He swung his legs around, but before he could stand, Sera's head popped up over the back of the couch. She slung both arms over and hung there, looking over Cullen's shoulder.

" _Whoa_ , you're a mess," she said, leaning over to stare at Wren. "Thought you'd finally let them heal you a bit. What gives?"

Wren looked down at herself. "It's not so bad," she said, shrugging. "It's colorful, yeah? Besides, it's better than it was."

"But we have like, hundreds of mages running around," Sera said. "Can't one of them-" She wiggled her fingers at Wren. "-you know, fix it."

"It's _fine_ , Sera," Wren said.

Sera scrambled up over the back of the couch, barely avoiding elbowing Cullen in the face as she tumbled over. She landed next to him with a thump.

"Morning, Cullen," Sera said.

"Sera," he said, nodding.

"You talk in your sleep," she announced.

Panic washed over him. "I-"

"His mumbling was hardly any more coherent or disruptive than your snoring," Leliana said casually, not bothering to look up from her reports.

"Do you _ever_ sleep?" Sera asked, making a face at Leliana.

"Not with you snoring in the same room," Leliana said.

"Broke my nose once," Sera grumbled. "Can't help it."

Cullen quickly stood and picked his way to the corner where his armor was waiting on a pile of crates.

"It wasn't that loud," Wren said sympathetically to the woman in question. "I probably made nearly that much noise just rolling over."

"You sounded like this," Sera said. She held her breath for a long moment, making a face. "It's creepy, you don't make any noise at all."

"I've noticed that myself," Varric said, sitting up in his bed roll. "What's with that? Do you just die for several hours at night?"

Wren chuckled. "That's how I stay so young, Varric. I spend half my life dead."

"I knew it," he said. "Your weirdness only gets deeper as we go."

Before anyone else could wake up, Cullen managed to slip out mostly unnoticed and headed for the makeshift barracks to begin his day.  
  


* * *

  
"Herald."

Wren's quick pace hitched, and she turned. "Madame Vivienne," she said.

"Should you really be carrying that at this stage?" Vivienne asked, looking with arched brow at the large crate Wren held in her arms. "You can't possibly be strong enough. It's only been a week since we've arrived, and you keep sending back the healers."

Wren lips tweaked into a rueful smile. "I finally let the healers have their way," she said, "as I'm sure you've been told. They gave me a wild tale about what you'd do if I didn't just accept a proper healing and be done with it."

"It's important that our leader be able to perform her duties," Vivienne said mildly. "Such as… whatever it is that you are doing now, I assume."

"Lanterns for the tavern," Wren said, nodding toward the building across the way. "Bull and the Chargers have been working on it since the heavy work has tapered off."

"I must say, things have been refreshingly organized since our arrival," Vivienne said. "I had my doubts when you led us here, but things do seem to be looking up."

Wren set the crate down on a nearby stack of salvaged stone. "Yes," she said. "I think we've been lucky. Josephine told me that we have a team of masons lined up to start work on the walls soon."

"That will help our presentation dramatically," Vivienne said. She looked at Wren seriously. "Let me get a look at you. Maker, you're a mess. Have you been in a _cave_ today?"

"I may as well have," Wren said, shaking her head. "Sera and I were looking for a place she could keep her things. We wound up in some prison under the castle, and I nearly fell through the floor."

"As confounding and inappropriate as Sera is, I do not think the prison is where she belongs. I hope you both came to a similar conclusion."

"She hauled me out and said she didn't want to live in a damp cave anyway," Wren said. "We're setting her up in the tavern instead. Have you found a place yet, Vivienne?"

"I believe I have. I have spoken to Josephine about the matter. Tell me," Vivienne said. "How are you doing, my dear?"

"Oh, I…" Wren shifted her weight awkwardly. "Well. Better, since the healers. I didn't realize how bad things were until they weren't."

"That is often the way, is it not?" Vivienne asked. "It's good that you finally succumbed to reason."

"You're not the first to say that," Wren said, shaking her head ruefully.

"I overheard the Commander talking with your friend, Wolfson," Vivienne said. "The two of them were discussing how displeased they were about you walking into camp after Haven fell."

"I'm sure one of them will pin me down eventually for a lecture," Wren said.

"Ignore them. It was a wise choice. The people will take their cues from the way you comport yourself," Vivienne said.

"I didn't want anyone to think we'd been beaten," Wren said.

"You've performed well," Vivienne said. "You can read an audience, which works to our advantage. We will have to speak later about some other details of your presentation, but for now there are more pressing matters to hand." She looked at Wren seriously. "You did well, saving as many as you did, but the enemy struck a serious blow against you and the Inquisition. We must recognise that. _You_ must."

"I know," Wren said. She sighed. "I haven't managed to catch up with the Commander yet to ask about numbers, but I know we didn't save everyone. We were surprised. We shouldn't have been surprised."

"No, we should not. It was an indefensible location, poorly chosen," Vivienne said.

"It was. This one should improve our chances, at least." Wren gestured toward the walls around them. "It won't bring back anyone we've lost, but it should protect those we have."

"Indeed," Vivienne said. "I won't keep you any longer, Herald. Come find me when you're less busy. We should discuss some things."

"Sure," Wren said. She turned and picked the crate up again. "Later then, Madame Vivienne."  
  


* * *

  
The lower grounds were bustling with people, but not in a panic. The frantic air that Skyhold had those first few days was long gone. Now it was primarily the business of commerce and settlement that kept the action going.

Wren had helped with the tavern, the stables, and the walls. She'd had long meetings with Josephine and Leliana. Work was slowing down, and her efforts were needed outside the walls rather than within. She was already lining up a party, and just had to finalize their itinerary. Maybe tomorrow afternoon she could be on the road again.

She walked out of the gatehouse and spotted the war council talking at the foot of the stairs. This was hardly noteworthy - they often had impromptu meetings wherever the space could be borrowed - but when Leliana spotted Wren they all turned at once to look at her in a way that made Wren distinctly uncomfortable.

Cassandra waved her over.

 _Trap,_ Wren's mind whispered.

She crossed the yard, all eyes upon her, though when she drew near the others walked away. Only Cassandra remained to step forward to meet Wren.

"Something I said?" Wren asked, gesturing toward the spaces where the others had stood.

Cassandra shook her head.

"Walk with me," Cassandra said.

They headed off, dodging workers carrying crates from the main gate, horses carrying goods to the farther corners of Skyhold, and new arrivals staring at the stone walls in awe and relief.

Cassandra gestured toward the crowded courtyard.

"They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage," she said.

Wren looked around. The work had kept her so busy that she hadn't noticed as the population had grown, but Cassandra was right - they were becoming quite the village.

"They lost Haven," Wren said. "They need a replacement, a focus."

"I think it is more than that," Cassandra said.

She led them up the long stairs, away from the main gate and the push of the people.

"If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One," Cassandra said.

"We knew we couldn't hide here," Wren said, "but this place should withstand assault better than Haven. The walls are a priority. They need to hold, no matter what shows up. I can put in word to some old contacts, see about more masons-"

Cassandra chuckled. "I should have known a quietly dramatic speech was not going to work."

"Hmm?"

"You are eager to work, to find solutions. Perhaps that is why we are standing here." Cassandra stopped and looked at her. "Though I believe it is more than that, as people are here for more than a Haven replacement."

They crested the first set of steps, and Cassandra paused.

"Why do you think Corypheus sought you out?" Cassandra asked. "Why was he drawn to you?"

"I have the mark - the Anchor," Wren said. "Whatever he was planning, he needed it. I ruined it, but because I have it at all, he wants me dead."

Cassandra tipped her head. "The Anchor has power," she said, "but it's not why you're still standing here."

"No," Wren said. "That's because of one healing potion, years of training, and stubbornness."

"Your _decisions_ let us heal the sky," Cassandra said, shaking her head as she led Wren up the hill again. "Your _determination_ brought us out of Haven."

"It was more the pack animals," Wren said. "Carts. Roderick's path. The work of all of you, getting them out."

"None of which would have mattered if you had not been willing to sacrifice yourself to give us time. If you had not constantly done what was asked of you, and more, since we found you in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, we would not be here. You cannot wave this off, Herald. Your actions, your _choices_ have made you the Elder One's rival - and we know it."

"Where is this going?" Wren asked, slowing her steps up the long staircase. "Cassandra?"

Cassandra reached the first landing on the way to the wall, then turned to wait for Wren to follow. As she crested the steps, she saw Leliana there with an inscrutable smile on her face. She was holding a sword across her palms like an offering.

"The Inquisition requires a leader," Cassandra said.

"No," Wren breathed. She looked up at Cassandra. "No. You can't ask me to do this. You wouldn't."

Leliana stepped forward, and Wren looked around her for some sign of reason, some escape. Below them, the people had noticed something happening - or maybe they'd been told. A crowd was gathering. She could see Blackwall at the back. Varric. Cullen, among the people. Josephine walked up to stand next to the Commander, but they all, to a one, were watching Wren.

"Why?" Wren whispered.

"I just told you why," Cassandra said.

Wren shook her head.

"There would be no Inquisition without you," Cassandra said. "Without your actions we would not be here. Whatever your fears, whatever your doubts, you have been leading us all along. Regardless of our individual beliefs, we agree on that."

Wren looked back at the sword, then at the crowd, ever larger. Sera. Bull. Wolfson.

"These people have their lives because of you," Cassandra said. "They will follow you. I believe they would follow no other."

Wren's gaze dropped to the ornate sword in Leliana's hands. A great dragon wound around it, teeth bared. _Where did that even come from?_

"You all agreed on this," Wren said, looking back at Cassandra.

"We did. We do." Cassandra nodded once. "Giving this power to anyone is concerning, I agree, but I believe this was meant to be. We have been heading toward this moment all along."

"I don't- I don't want this," Wren said. "You have to know I don't want this."

"If you did, I do not think we would ask you to take it," Cassandra said. "We cannot make you do this, Herald, but…"

"But you need me to do it," Wren said quietly.

She reached out, slowly, and her hand hovered above the sword.

She looked up at Leliana.

"Is this going to cause more problems than it solves?" Wren asked.

Leliana shook her head very slightly.

"And you agree with Cassandra," Wren said.

"I do," Leliana said.

Wren took a steadying breath, then took hold of the sword's hilt.

It felt as though everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see what she would do. She could relate - even she wasn't certain. It felt as if she were standing before a chasm, and that if she stepped forward she would fall forever.

Her grip tightened, and she raised the sword. The blade caught the afternoon sun, gleaming a brilliant gold. She could see a distorted reflection of herself in it - pale and wary.

"Well?" Leliana asked quietly.

"I can't say no in front of all these people," Wren said. "And once I've said yes, that's it. There's no sneaking out the back when no one is looking."

"Was there ever?" Leliana asked.

Wren sighed softly.

"I suppose not," she said.

She raised her voice and projected it, enough to be heard by the nearest people to the walls. "I accept. We will fight together, for all of us."

Cassandra stepped to the edge of the stones.

"Have our people been told?" she called down.

"They have," Josephine said, stepping forward. A brilliant smile stretched across her face. "And soon, the world."

Wren held tight to the sword, as if it were her lifeline. She turned to face the crowd, sword held at the ready before her.

"Commander, will they follow?" Cassandra called.

He was looking up at Wren with a mix of pride and admiration that made her feel terribly conscious of her own doubt. Her stomach felt like a hollow aching pit. He turned to face the people.

"Inquisition," he said. "Will you follow?"

The people cheered, and the sound echoed off the stones around her _._

"Will you fight?" he asked.

More cheers. Wren braced herself as if preparing for a blow. She could feel Cassandra and Leliana walking up to stand on either side of her, but behind. The Right and Left Hands of the Divine, again united in their protection of a figurehead.

"Will we triumph?" Cullen was asking below.

Wren looked down as Cullen turned toward her, sword raised. He pointed the blade toward Wren.

"Your leader," he declared. "Your Herald. Your Inquisitor!"

The crowd below faded to indistinct shapes, the cheers into a featureless wave of sound.

Wren lifted the sword high and prayed she didn't fall.


	12. Chapter 12

"Inquisitor, do you have a moment?"

_Inquisitor_. 

Wren closed her eyes a moment to steady herself. She had never quite adjusted to being called the Herald, and now there was _this_. She turned and walked over toward the source of the summons.

"Commander," she said. 

He gestured toward the map pinned to the makeshift desk in front of him. "I was plotting out the route we took to here from Haven," he said. "It's remarkable that we made it here. There were so many ways we could have wound up lost forever in the mountains."

"We were lucky," Wren said. _And we had Solas._

"I agree. This is a fortunate place to have found," he said. "We set up as best we could in Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon - or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have…"

Wren shook her head. "With some warning, we'd still have faced an entire army of Red Templars, the Elder One, and the dragon. We did what we could. Haven would never have held."

"If we could have prepared, perhaps we'd have heard of the path sooner," Cullen said. "We could have evacuated early, saved more people."

"How many did we lose?" Wren asked. "Do we have an idea?"

"Most of our people made it to Skyhold. The mages worked overtime to heal the injured and keep people warm. It could have been much worse," he said. "By rights, it should have been, and we know it. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor."

Wren sighed.

"You don't like it," he said.

"Did you think I would?" she asked.

"I suspected you might not, but we needed a leader," he said. "You have proven yourself. You have constantly, consistently chosen the paths we have taken for months now. You have _been_ leading us."

Wren made a face. "You sound like Cassandra," Wren said.

"There are worse people to resemble," Cullen said.

"That's true," she said.

A shout from the yard had her turning away, looking over toward the sound. The yard still played host to many of the injured or sick, laid out on pallets with a few mages to mind them. An indoor infirmary had been set up, but the room was small, and only the worst of the wounded were inside. Most of their people may have made it to Skyhold, but that did not mean they'd arrived intact - or that they would survive once here.

"Our escape from Haven…" Wren said quietly. "It was close."

"Close, yes," Cullen said. "But we survived. That's more than we expected. More than I did, certainly." She could hear the rustle as he shook his head. 

"We did the best we could," Wren said.

She watched one of the mages lay a cool cloth across the forehead of a soldier lying on a pallet on the ground. 

"I'm relieved that you made it out safely," she said quietly, not looking back. "I hoped you would."

She heard him step closer.

"When you stayed behind-" He reached for her and caught her arm, and she turned to look at him. There was something haunted in his expression. "You could have-" His voice cut off, and he shook his head.

"I did what had to be done," she said. Her voice softened. "I chose."

"We will not be in that position here. I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again," he said. "You have my word."

"Commander," she said gently. "You can't control the future."

"I can damn well try," he said.  
  


* * *

  
It wasn't strictly necessary for them to head back to the Hinterlands, but Wren leapt at the chance to check up on Redcliffe, bring supplies to the crossroads, and clear the last of the rifts from the farthest corners. If one more person had come running up to her to lodge complaints, she was afraid she might have just started screaming.

The Hinterlands, now, that was much better. Just her, a scout, a couple soldiers, and her party, checking up on things to eat up the time until Hawke sent them word that she was ready to meet them in Crestwood.

From behind her, she heard Varric clear his throat.

"So," he said. "Wolfson, is it?"

Wren could hear the rustle of armor as Wolfson turned. "Yes, Master Tethras," he said.

"You knew our Birdy before, right?" Varric asked. 

_Shit._ Wren slowed her horse's pace a bit.

"Yes ser. We trained together at Ostwick," Wolfson said.

"She claims to be a singer, Wolfson, but I've never heard a song out of her," Varric said. "You ever hear anything?"

Wren turned in her saddle to shoot Wolfson a look that plainly said _don't you dare_.

"Ser," Wolfson said, "it is a wonder to me that you have managed to keep her silent all this time. How can you truly know you are on a trip with Trevelyan if you haven't learned three new verses to 'Roll Your Leg Over' by the end of the week?"

Wren rolled her eyes and looked away. "See if I bring _you_ again," she said.

"I was just answering Ser Varric's question," Wolfson said innocently.

"Oh, of course," Wren said. "How foolish of me to think you were making fun of me." 

"Would I do such a thing?" Wolfson asked.

"You would. You have. You are. It seems likely that you will in future," Wren said.

"If you're already accounting for it, then I don't really need to change anything," he said.

Wren shot him a look. "Next time you can stay at Skyhold with the others and practice drills until your arms fall off," she said.

Wolfson grinned. "You'd miss me," he said. 

"Like a splinter, maybe."

"Aw, you're just saying that. You're my little sister, you can't be mad at me."

"I am older than you are."

"But smaller."

"Sure, _now_ , but I remember when you were short enough that I could use your head as an armrest."

"Cruel. I made up for it later. Now you're smaller, like a tiny pixie of death."

"I'm not that small! I'm nearly as tall as you!" She looked over at Varric. "Look what you started," she said.

"I'm not sorry," he said. "This is great. I'm gonna write this down later."

"Ugh." Wren slumped forward and rested her forehead on her horse's mane. Wolfson laughed.

"Hey, I didn't tell the Commander anything interesting when _he_ asked," Wolfson said. "I think I should get points for that."

"Interesting like what?" Varric asked.

"Are you kidding? I have dozens of stories from when we were kids," Wolfson said. "Did you know your Inquisitor was the best horse thief in our class?"

"I was the _only_ horse thief in our class," Wren said, voice muffled.

"She used to do imitations," Wolfson said. "She was really good. Got us out of trouble more than a few times that way."

"I've heard her do that here," Varric said, grinning. "She does a great impersonation of Curly. Scares the hell out of the scouts."

"I like her version of you, personally," Dorian said. "It's very good."

"I should have her meet with my publishers, then," Varric said. "Save me the trouble."

"I feel like they would notice that I'm not you, even if I do the voice," Wren said.

"Eh," Varric said. "If you've got the manuscript, they won't care."

"You're going to hand me your next manuscript, then?" Wren asked. "That's brave."

"I don't think you could disappear with it if you tried," Varric said. "The whole of Thedas has eyes on you."

"Don't remind me," Wren said with a groan. 

"Can we go back to the horse thievery?" Dorian asked. "That sounds very interesting."

"It's less so than it seems," Wren said.

"You know what _is_ a good story, though?" Wolfson asked.

"The time we both got in trouble for piercing your ears?" Wren asked.

"There isn't much story to that," Wolfson said. "I was thinking about-"

"When you almost drowned in the sacramental wine?" Wren asked.

"No, when-"

"Oh, I've got it! Was it when they made you bunk in the stables because they caught you and Francis Bartleby out by the-"

"You win! Your point has been made!" Wolfson said. "No stories about baby Trevelyan."

"I very much want to hear that last story now," Dorian said.

"I'll tell you later," Wren said.

Wolfson pressed the heel of his hand to his chest. "Betrayal!" he said.

"Never trust a mercenary to be anything else," Wren said. She winked and nudged her horse to scout ahead.  
  


* * *

  
The trek out to the Hinterlands was more profitable than she'd expected. One of her favorite locals, Corporal Vale, had taken her aside after they'd arrived to thank her and the Inquisition for their help. 

He'd also volunteered his group, Vale's Irregulars, to work for the Inquisition. They were mostly former mercenaries, soldiers, and a few skilled locals, which put them under the Commander's purview. She'd expected Cullen to be pleased about that, but he'd barely seemed to notice. It was odd to see him so distracted at a war table meeting. 

He had apologised to them at the end of the meeting for his inattention, and had asked her to meet him at his office later. She'd obliged as quickly as she could. She wasn't sure why she was so _worried_. Nothing in what he'd said led her to think there was an emergency. Still…

She tapped on the door, then pulled it open. The hinges protested loudly enough to make Wren wince. _Get someone to fix that_ , she noted. _Dreadful._

Despite the noise of the door and of her footsteps on the stones, Cullen did not look up from where he stood bent over the desk, staring down at a small box - a familiar sort of box, giving off a familiar sort of hum.

Her pace across the room slowed. Maker, how long had it been since she'd seen a traveller's kit? Baron, her former trainer, had carried his everywhere. Not every Templar bothered with them, but any that had to do long haul travel were bound to have some version of the kit with them. 

Liquid lyrium was often heavy, and glass bottles could break, but a traveller's kit allowed small quantities of raw lyrium to be ground up and distilled. Some Templars even preferred the method, claiming the roughness of the resulting decoction gave them an edge. Baron had disagreed, she remembered. He said it was like ingesting broken glass.

Cullen took a careful breath in, then out. "There's something I must tell you," he said quietly.

The hum from the box was faint, almost old, and painfully familiar. She stopped a few steps from the desk and interlaced her fingers, holding tight. "All right," she said.

"I received this kit when I was eighteen, before I was transferred to my first Circle. I've had it ever since." He shook his head. "Lyrium grants us our abilities, but it controls us as well." He hesitated, then asked, "Did you ever take it?"

"No," she said. "Ostwick Templars get their first dose during the elevation ceremony, after the vigil. I left before that."

He nodded. "Those cut off from the lyrium suffer," he said. "Some go mad. Others die. The instructors may have exaggerated about some things, but not that."

She remembered those lectures. Your duty was to take lyrium to give you the power to negate magic, to protect people from mages and mages from themselves. The lyrium, they were told, was what made a Templar a Templar - and if you stopped taking it you would suffer for that transgression against the Maker. 

_In the end, it's no different than the cost of taking it,_ she thought. _But they don't tell you that until it's far too late._

"Josephine arranged a lyrium supply for our Templars back when they first started joining up in Haven," Wren said. "Are we having problems? I can reach out to people, see if I can secure a supply."

"No, our supply line is strong," Cullen said. "Even with the Templar forces still finding their way here, we have been able to keep up." He looked down at the box on the table again, face solemn.

"I no longer take it," he said.

Wren's breath stopped in her lungs.

"You…" she said.

"No longer take lyrium," he said. "I quit when I joined the Inquisition."

"That's months ago," she said, more to herself than to him. _Months. How much was it like the effects of lyrium toxicity? What were they, what were they… nightmares. Headaches. Muscle weakness. Confusion. Hallucination. Tremors. Too cold, then too hot, no way to predict or control it. And the pain, Maker, the pain, there'd been nothing they could do._

_No, no, no._

"After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't-" His voice tightened. "I won't be bound to that life or the Order any longer." 

Her grip on her hands kept them from shaking. Her mind raced. She couldn't… she couldn't do it again, couldn't watch someone else die that way. Was quitting as fatal as not? _Maker, please tell me it isn't._

"Is it very bad?" she asked. _What's happening to you? What stage? How long?_

"Whatever the suffering, I accept it," he said.

"That's not what I asked." _**Tell** me._

"I can endure it." 

"That's not what I asked!" Her voice struck out, sharper than she intended. She closed her eyes.

"No matter what my personal cost, I would not put the Inquisition at risk," he said. "I've asked Cassandra to watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

_I don't care. I don't care. **I don't care.**_

She took a careful breath and opened her eyes again. "All right," she said.

"The Inquisition's army must take priority," Cullen said. "Should anything happen, I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."

"Of course." Panic gripped her mind, killing her ability to sound at all wise or understanding. _Is he in pain? Does he know? Does he sleep?_

Memories bombarded her, drowning her. Lyrium had already taken one person from her. She could not abide it taking another. He was her _friend_ , it wasn't _fair_.

_If he hadn't quit, it would have taken him anyway. That's what happens to Templars,_ a quiet voice in her mind said.

It was little comfort.

"It's a… brave thing you're doing," she said. "I hope-" Her voice choked off the platitude. _Air, I need air, I have to leave._ "I wish you luck, Commander," she said. She turned away quickly and headed for the door.

"Thank you, Inquisitor," she heard him say just before she pulled the door open. The hinges screeched and she escaped onto the battlements, taking in rapid breaths of cold air.  
  


* * *

  
Wolfson walked along the crumbling battlement wall, stopping at the end and settling himself down to sit next to Wren. 

"Got enough to share, Trevelyan?" he asked, nodding toward the bottle next to her.

"Sure," she said. She handed the bottle over without looking at him.

He took a swig, then coughed.

"You and your cider," he said. "What's wrong with a good ale?"

"Only you would drink my alcohol and then complain about it."

"Aw, don't say that. I'm sure lots of people would."

Wren leaned over and shoved him with her shoulder.

"Careful," he said. "You'll spill your terrible cider."

"Give it back, then," she said, reaching for the bottle. Wolfson held it just out of reach, grinning at her.

She gave up so quickly that it made Wolfson frown. He took another drink, then handed back the bottle. 

She drank more herself before setting it down out of his reach.

"So," he said. "What brings you out to this lonely stretch of wall?"

"It's quiet," Wren said. "They gave me some rooms here, but they're big and empty." She shrugged one shoulder. "I know when I shouldn't be alone."

Wolfson nodded.

"You want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Maybe eventually. I'm still thinking," she said. "But I could do with a distraction, if you've got anything on your mind."

"I might be able to come up with something," he said. He leaned back, staring up at the sky a moment.

"Remember when I first came to Ostwick?" he asked.

"Parts of it," she said. "They told me that I had a roommate now and it was my job to look after you."

"I remember the Templars talking on the way to Ostwick about how they weren't sure where I'd end up once we got there," he said. "They hadn't cleared recruiting me with anyone in advance."

"You were determined to be a Templar, I remember," Wren said.

"I was," he said. "The ones that brought me to Ostwick had saved my family. I wanted to be able to do that, too. I wanted to train and be able to protect my mother myself next time." He shook his head. "I haven't seen her since then. We write when we can, but the Order transferred me so often that her letters are always delayed."

"I used to love your letters from Rivain," Wren said wistfully. "Your mother was so _real_. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do," he said. "If by real you mean opinionated."

"She loved you," Wren said. "And she told you all the time."

"She did," he said. "Maker, I miss her."

"I hope you can get back to writing while you're here. If you do, tell her I hope she's well," Wren said.

"You know, she asks about you all the time," Wolfson said. "' _How is my little Marcher bird? I hope you are looking for her, Thomas.'_ "

"Does she really?" Wren asked softly. 

"She does," he said. He looked off at the horizon and reached for her cider bottle again. Wren handed it over without a word. He took a drink and handed it back.

"She hated that I joined the Templars," he said. "She used to ask me all the time when I was going to come to my senses."

"I remember," Wren said. "You used to get so mad."

"I always used to tell her that I was getting strong so I could protect people," he said. He shook his head. "Now I think she was right."

"The Red Templars-"

"It isn't just them," he said. "We don't know what happened, why they… are. It's the Lord Seeker. It's the Chantry. It's the _mages_. I've been talking to them, Trevelyan, like you suggested. They're scared of me. I hate that they're scared of me. I hate that I'm scared of them. I don't want to-" He sighed. "I don't want to be this person."

"Wolfson. You're a good man," Wren said.

"Am I? Sometimes I wonder," he said. "I could do better. I could _be_ better."

Wren took a drink of cider. "What do you want to do?" she asked.

"Leave the Order," he said. "Really help people. See my family. Get married. Have kids. Take up woodworking or something."

"You would hate woodworking," Wren said. "Unless you've gotten over your thing about splinters."

"Pottery, then. Glassblowing. Stone carving. Anything," Wolfson said. "I want to be able to decide for myself what I do and for who. I want to have a life for myself as well as for the Maker."

"I… don't know what to say, Wolfson," Wren said. She leaned back. "I can't argue with you. I'm not sure if I even should."

"Why did you leave?" Wolfson asked. "Was it about the mages?"

"No. It would be noble if it was, but it wasn't." Wren sighed. "You know how hard it is to see through the lessons we were taught. If I hadn't left, I know I would have done my job without question," she said. "I can't judge our Templars. I could have been them. I almost was them."

"Then why?"

Wren sat up again.

"You remember Baron," she said.

"Your trainer," Wolfson said. "They brought him in from Starkhaven when you turned out to be shite with a sword."

"Yes. Do you know how old he was?"

"All the Templars seemed old to me back then," Wolfson said. "Privilege of the young."

"He was in his fifties when he came to Ostwick to train me," Wren said. "He'd been a Templar for thirty-five years by the time I was ten."

"No wonder you could keep up with him by the end," Wolfson said, nudging her with his elbow.

"You're more right than I wish you were," Wren said. 

Wolfson leaned away to look at her. "I'm just teasing you," he said. "You know you could stand against anyone out there."

"No, I…" she sighed. "The lyrium was taking him, Wolfson. By the time I was studying for the vigil he wasn't able to train me anymore. He left Ostwick just after I turned seventeen."

"What?" Wolfson sat up.

"When you can't fight anymore, the Order has little use for you," Wren said. "If your mind stayed, maybe you could be of service somehow, but the lyrium takes your mind along with your body. Once that starts, they give you a bit of money and send you on your way. If you have a family, you can go to them. If you don't, you… well, it's not their concern."

"Maker, Wren. What happened to him? Do you know?" Wolfson asked.

She closed her eyes, took a careful breath in, a slow breath out. 

"He died," she said. Her voice was tight with banked sorrow.

She took another drink of the cider, then handed the near-empty bottle to Wolfson. He downed the last of it without hesitation.

"He taught me that I was worth more than my blood and bone given to the Order." She stared at the mountains, at the spill of light from the fading sun. "He taught me to think about what I was going to do, about what was being asked of me. That just because he was proud of his life and his work, I didn't have to want the same things."

"He told you to leave," Wolfson said.

"No," Wren said. "He told me I _could_. That what I wanted was worth something. That _I_ was worth something."

The sun dipped finally below the edge of the mountain. Inside the battlement walls lanterns cast warm light around the castle.

"I want to tell you something," Wren said. "It might be a secret, I'm not sure. Can I trust you with it?" She reached over and picked up the empty cider bottle, rolling it back and forth in her hands.

Wolfson nodded. "I'm good for it," he said.

"One of our Templars quit taking lyrium," she said.

Wolfson hissed in a breath, looking at her with sympathy. "That's a death sentence, Trevelyan," he said.

"Maker, I hope it isn't. It can't be, Wolfson. Do you understand? It can't be." Her fingers wrapped around the bottle.

"You've been through training. You know what they tell you," Wolfson said. "And I know you've seen lyrium addicts before. When they get cut off…"

"Training was wrong about other things," Wren said. "And the people you're talking about, they're not trying to quit. They're trying to get _more_. Have you ever met anyone that actually _quit_?" 

"No," Wolfson said.

Wren sighed. "I'm… scared for him," she said. "What happened to Baron... I don't want that for him. For anyone."

"Has this guy been taking it long?" Wolfson asked.

"Probably. Assuming he got it at 18 like the others do… maybe fifteen years?"

Wolfson sucked his breath in through his teeth.

"I know," Wren said.

"Is he… himself? When did he quit?" Wolfson asked.

"He seems the same to me now as when I met him in Haven," Wren said. "He quit taking it before I turned up, though."

"That's _months_ ," Wolfson said. "And he seems fine?"

"He does," Wren said. She looked over at him. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm saying that if he was going to collapse, you'd have signs by now," Wolfson said. "The Chantry said that you'd be helpless within days, but you say it's been months. If he's fine…"

"Yeah," she said. She sighed in a bit of relief. "You're right. It might not be… it might be fine."

Wolfson looked thoughtful. "And if he did," he said, "then maybe others could as well."

"Don't joke about that," Wren said. "I'm still not sure I believe that this isn't a death sentence." 

"I'm not joking. You don't know, Little Bird. You never had to take it," he said. "Lyrium _owns_ you once you've had it. If he makes it, if he's fine in the end, or at least fine enough, it might be worth the pain now to save pain later."

She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, fingers clutching tight to each other.

"You don't want anyone to die that way," Wolfson said.

"I know," she said. "I do. And if we could avoid it for him, for you, for the others, it would be worth the risk. I just… don't want to lose anyone in the trying."

"You can't save everyone, Little Bird," Wolfson said.

"I can try."

"And you can burn out, and not be able to save anyone."

"Stop making sense," she said. Her shoulders slumped.

Wolfson leaned over, resting his shoulder against hers.

"It's going to be fine," Wolfson said. 

"Tell me that again later," Wren said. 

"I'll do that," he said. 

He leaned further, tilting her sideways.

"When I leave the Templars, maybe you can help me pierce my ears again," he said.

She exhaled a sharp almost-laugh. "Who's going to stop us? I'm the Inquisitor now," she said. "Besides, nobody can give us that 'being a Templar means giving up things' lecture if neither of us are Templars anymore."

"I think my favorite part was the 'you should not stab your friends even if they ask you to'," Wolfson said.

"Kind of counterintuitive when half of training is trying to stab your friends," Wren said.

"And yet they didn't appreciate you pointing that out, as I recall," he said.

"They didn't," she agreed. "But here, you can be as fancy as you like, Wolfson."

"I'll write to my mother," Wolfson said. "She'll let me know exactly how fancy I should be."

"She's going to be over the moons," Wren said. 

"They'll hear the cackling all the way in Nevara," Wolfson said. "I'll give you partial credit."

He sat up straight, freeing her to follow suit. "Hey," he said, "no matter what happens, you should know that I have no regrets. Following you has never steered me wrong, Trevelyan. Not when we were kids, and not now."

She looked over at him and smiled.

"Thanks, Wolfson," she said.


	13. Chapter 13

The lamps were burning low when Varric came up to her in the tavern. He held up a sheet of abused paper, setting it down in front of her ceremoniously before taking the seat opposite her at the otherwise empty table.

"Word from Hawke," he said as she picked up the page to read it. "She's headed for the meeting place now. We should pack up and go meet her."

_Varric,_

_Tracked down our guy. He's camped out in the foothills around Crestwood. Pack rain gear. Oh - and hurry._

_M._

"Hurry?" Wren asked.

"She means 'don't put this off for months, I have shit to do'," Varric said.

"Right." Wren sipped her cider and looked at the page thoughtfully. "Any suggestions on who to tap for this?"

"Probably not Sparkler," Varric said. "If he hated the weather at the coast, he'll hate Crestwood."

"Maybe Cole," Wren said. "And Bull. We can leave the mages behind to help with reconstruction."

"Not Hero, with the Warden connection?" Varric asked.

Wren looked at him over the rim of her mug of cider.

"No," she said. "I don't want to complicate things. For whatever reason, Blackwall seems to be on the outs with the other Wardens. If there's a real conflict there, I don't want it complicating anything."

"Makes sense. So, when can we leave?"

"Bull and Cole both hang around here. Watch my cider, I'll go talk to them, see if they're up for it." She pushed away from the table and headed over toward where Bull tended to stay.

A few weeks later, the four of them sat in an entirely different tavern. This one was empty, musty, and smelled of burning dust from the fire they'd lit in a long abandoned fireplace.

"Remind me again why we're camping in a bar on the dam," Bull said.

"Because Cole got overwhelmed with all the people taking possession of the fort," Wren said.

"They won't let me help," Cole said anxiously.

"Besides," Wren said, "this way we can monitor the controls and make sure _darkspawn_ don't break them again."

She scowled in the direction of the control room.

"Still not buyin' it, huh Birdy," Varric said.

"Not even a little," Wren said. "There aren't any repairs to those controls, and no sign of damage. They're perfectly fine. Worked first try. The mayor lied to us, but why?"

"He's been lying to us the whole time," Bull said. "Tell me you saw that."

"Yeah, he's been squirrelly," Wren said, "but I still don't know the cause. What's he gaining by the lie?"

"We'll find out," Bull said.

"We can't head back to Crestwood to sort out the rift until the ground is more solid," Wren said, "so tomorrow we'll go meet Hawke and her Warden friend. Hopefully we'll get enough out of that to send a report back to Leliana. She can prep for our next step while we try to reach the rift."

"I'll give you this," Varric said, "you think this shit out more than Hawke does. She'd have us out there up to our knees in muck already."

"It smells like rotting fish and worse," Wren said. "And mud that saturated can't support travel. I hate to make them wait, but better a day or two delay than one of us getting swallowed up in the mud."

"I'm not complaining," Varric said. "I might even point out to Hawke that she could learn something from you."

"Oh, don't do that," Wren said. "I want her to like me."

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about that," Varric said. "Hawke likes most people."

"Still," Wren said. "Let's not do anything to make me an exception."

A few more weeks saw them in Skyhold's tavern again, weary and still smelling faintly of decay despite numerous baths along the route back.

"Shouldn't you be heading for the grand hall to meet with your advisors?" Varric asked.

Wren pulled out a chair and sat down. "We didn't announce our arrival," Wren said. "I have a cider's worth of time before they're ready for me anyway. First they have to drag the Commander out of his reports, and Leliana out of the rafters, and Josephine will have to finish up her paperwork before they can even think about talking to me."

"Is that why we didn't send a bird ahead?" Varric asked.

"Yep," Wren said.

"Smart," Bull said approvingly. "Cider, boss?"

"Yes, please," she said.

"So what are you going to do about the mayor?" Varric asked as Bull headed over to the bar.

"Nothing," Wren said. "I'm going to do what Josephine is always suggesting I do and delegate. Someone else can worry about tracking him down. Maybe by the time we haul him in I'll know what we should do with him."

Bull returned, two mugs in hand. He set one in front of Wren and sat down in the chair beside her.

"I take it the next front will be the Western Approach," he said.

"It'll be _a_ front, certainly," Wren said. "I want to say it'll be the very next one, but I can't promise that. Every message I got while we were in Crestwood underlined how much there was to do everywhere else." She took a sip of her cider. "Though they were far less insistent about it after I started mentioning the dead rising."

"If we could stop running into the undead that'd be great," Bull said. "This is the second swamp full of the rising dead we've slogged through."

"Trust me, that thought has been on my mind," Wren said. "At least the Western Approach should be dry." She sighed. "Though now that I've said that, it'll flood just to spite us."

"Chin up, Inquisitor," Varric said. "Hawke would be late to her own funeral. You have a while between now and when we need to meet them there. Might be able to get some waterproof pants before then."

"No, you know what we're going to do? _I'm_ going to do," she amended. " _You_ can do what you want. _I'm_ going to finally check out that oasis with the shards."

"Chuckles will want to go on that one," Varric said.

"Mmm," Wren agreed. "I might ask him. Or Dorian. Dorian likes hot weather."

"Inquisitor!" A breathless messenger stopped at their table, nearly tripping over her own feet.

"Catch your breath," Varric advised. "We're not going anywhere."

Wren nodded and took another long drink from her mug while the messenger straightened her posture and took a few steadying breaths.

"Leliana requests your company in the war room at your earliest convenience," the messenger said.

"Let her know I'll be right there," Wren said. "I'm going to finish this and then I'll be in." She smiled at the younger woman. "And thank you."

"Oh! Of course, my lady," the messenger said. She scampered out of the room quickly, nearly stumbling on the way out the door.

Bull chuckled.

"Bet she was excited to get that job," he said. "I heard the runners think bringing messages to you is a plum job."

"Why's that? It's not like they get tips," Wren said. "Leliana was very clear on that point."

"Because you're a big deal, boss," Bull said. "And you don't call them names."

"Are people calling our runners names?" Wren sat up straighter. "Who?"

"You know how it is," Bull said. "People with just enough power to think they need to wield it."

"Cole," Wren said, looking around.

"Yes?" Cole leaned out of the corner chair at their table, nearly invisible in the shadows.

"Cole, do you remember the talk we had, about the knives?"

"You said… it was a very creative solution to the problem," Cole said.

"Yes. Can you come up with a creative solution to this problem? I don't want people being unkind to the runners."

"I like to help."

"I know you do."

"I will try." Cole stood up from his seat and slid around the other chairs, disappearing into the crowd in the bar.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Varric asked.

"Other than a few… isolated incidents, his help has been benign," Wren said. "And ultimately it's worked for the greater good. I doubt he's going to decide the answer is killing whoever's the worst offenders."

"How much do you doubt it? Hopefully a lot," Varric said.

"He's only killed the one guy," Wren said. "And then a lot of our enemies. I like him. I think he'll be fine." She swirled her cider, then drank the last of it in a final swig.

"I'm going to go give our reports to the others," she said.

"Good luck, boss," Bull said.

"Yeah, I'll need it," she said. "What a mess."  


* * *

  
Every time Wren returned to Skyhold she felt a little more thankful for the strange weather they had there - the snow that fell just outside the walls and never closer, the warm air that seemed to hug the inner court, stirred by cold breezes but never cold enough to put anyone at risk of frostbite. There was enough rain to keep the gardeners happy, but no more. It was for that which she was most grateful as she slid out through a gap in the wall to weave through the scaffolding and make her way to the walkway above the gardens. Rain or snow might have left it all too slick for her route; with the dry wood and slates, she was sure-footed.

The hall here used to be punctuated by storage rooms in dire need of clearing; now they were nearly all in use as bedrooms for residents. One door stood ajar, and Wren paused as she reached it. She still couldn't remember whose rooms were where half the time. She peered in through the gap, then knocked on the jamb.

"Seeker?" Wren asked.

"Herald! Ah- yes?" Cassandra said. Wren heard a frantic rustling, and then Cassandra opened the door.

Wren tilted her head slightly. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "I can come back later, if this is a bad time."

"No, no," Cassandra said. She looked over her shoulder quickly, then back at Wren. "It is fine."

"You are a terrible liar," Wren said.

Cassandra sighed. "It _is_ fine," she said. "I was simply reading."

"Anything good?" Wren asked.

"Ah- it's…"

"Is it better than Swords and Shields? Varric says I'm absolutely not to read Swords and Shields," Wren said.

"There is nothing wrong with-!" Cassandra looked conflicted for a moment, then waved Wren into the room.

"I was not reading any of Varric's work," Cassandra said, fishing around under her pillow. She produced a blue hardcover book and handed it to the Herald. "I was reading this," she said.

Wren opened the book again at the front. "The Widow's Smithy," she read aloud. "What's it about?"

"The title is somewhat self-explanatory," Cassandra said. "It is about a widow whose husband was a blacksmith. After he is called away to war, she is left behind to take care of the smithy."

"Oh," Wren said. She looked at the painted page at the front of the book. "So she becomes a blacksmith herself, then?"

"You could simply read it yourself," Cassandra said. "Take my copy for a while."

Wren looked up. "Weren't you reading it just now?" she asked.

"I read it some time ago. Sera 'borrowed' it, and I just found it again," Cassandra said. "I was going to put it away, but I became… distracted, going back to read my favorite pages."

"I do that too," Wren said. "It's so easy to get caught up in your favorites. I used to have a copy of The Black Fox with me all the time, but it was lost in Haven with all the rest of my things."

She flipped through a few pages of the book, then paused on a page featuring a painting of a shirtless man hunched over an anvil, swinging a hammer.

"The widow doesn't look like I expected," Wren said.

"That is her _husband_ ," Cassandra said. She looked closer at Wren, and sighed. "But you are teasing me."

"Only a little," Wren said. She turned back to the start to look at the title page again.

"It is a good story," Cassandra said. "The main character is brave and determined. You would like it."

"You've convinced me. I'll give it a go," Wren said, closing the book again. "Thank you, Cassandra."

"You are welcome, Inquisitor. Did you need something else?" Cassandra asked.

"Oh! Yes, I did," Wren said. "We have some time while the scouts find our best route to the Western Approach. While they're doing that, I was going to follow the lead from the shards. Do you want to go along?"

"A bit of warmth would not go amiss. Who else will be going?"

"I plan to broach the topic with Dorian," Wren said. "He does like a mystery, and likes the warm weather."

"He does seem to, yes." Cassandra shook her head slightly. "Well, the two of you will need the help, and I am getting restless myself. When will we be leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow. Josephine asked me to stay in Skyhold tomorrow so we could discuss my family," Wren said.

"Is there a problem with them?" Cassandra asked.

"Nothing that wasn't a problem before," Wren said. "They're finding having disowned me years ago a bit problematic now that being related to me would be beneficial."

"Ugh," Cassandra said.

"I thought you'd understand," Wren said. She tucked the book into a bag on her belt. "Thanks again. I'll bring it back tidy as you please."

"I'm certain you will. I will speak with you again later, Inquisitor."

Wren smiled and bobbed her head in a quick nod, then left the room and hopped over the short railing onto the roof. She slipped across it with silent steps, then judged her angles and leapt onto the roof of the gazebo below. There was a thump as she landed, not too loud, but enough to cause Mother Giselle to look around in confusion.

With a quick slide, Wren skittered down the roof and landed next to the startled Chantry mother.

Mother Giselle gasped and started away, then recognised Wren and took a steadying breath.

"Inquisitor," she said.

"I apologise for the surprise, Mother Giselle," Wren said politely. "You were nearer than I expected."

"I must have been," she said. "Do be careful, Inquisitor!"

"I am always _careful_ , Mother Giselle," Wren said. Though she smiled pleasantly enough, something about her expression had the older woman frowning.

"Are you upset about my warnings about the young man from Tevinter?" Mother Giselle asked in a hushed voice, looking over Wren's shoulder. "I explained that I was only concerned."

"Of _course_ you were," Wren said.

"Why, fancy seeing you here, dove."

Wren turned away from Mother Giselle and beamed. "Dorian!" she said.

The mage was sitting at the chess table, looking quite pleased with himself. He leaned back from the table and smiled at her, including her in his magnanimity. Wren walked over and set her hand on his shoulder, then bent and kissed his cheek.

"It's always good to see you, Dorian," she said.

"The feeling is of course mutual. Wouldn't you agree, Commander?"

Wren looked over, startled, toward Dorian's opponent. The Commander sat opposite Dorian, leaning over the table with steady concentration - broken now by Dorian's comment.

"What?" Cullen asked, then looked up. He blinked in surprise, then sat up straight. "Inquisitor!" he said.

"I will take that as a yes," Dorian said. "To what do we owe your delightful visit?"

"I wish I could say I had planned, it," Wren said, "but it was just a lucky chance in landing."

"You _could_ use the stairs, you know," Dorian said.

"Stairs! How could you suggest such a thing?" Wren asked. "Think of all the extra time that takes! That's time I could spend instead with the prettiest man in the Inquisition."

"Ah, but which of us are you talking about? I would be the obvious choice, but the Commander has no lack of admirers, you know," Dorian said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Cullen said.

"Ridiculous? Perish the thought, Commander. I speak only the truth," Dorian said. His smile became teasing. "You're a handsome man, and a fine catch for many an aspiring young thing. Tell him, dove," he said.

"Do you suppose we should retain a guard to prevent enterprising ladies from carrying him off?" Wren asked. "We still have need of him to lead the forces. I can't have him going missing in the night."

"You might well," Dorian said. "Why, just yesterday I heard two Orlesian women in near ecstasies over his curls."

"Dorian," Cullen said impatiently. "It's your turn."

"We will need to make room in the budget," Wren said. She looked over the board, then frowned. "Dorian," she said, walking over to stand behind Cullen and look at the board from that side, "What have you been doing this whole game? You're in a terrible position."

"Admiring the Commander, of course," Dorian said, winking. "I highly recommend it."

Cullen shook his head. "You're trying to distract me," he said.

"I'm doing no such thing, but it is a good idea," Dorian said. "Be a dear, dove, and distract the Commander so I can plot."

Wren looked at the board and shook her head. "I could ride my undead horse through the gardens and you still wouldn't have enough time."

" _Try_ ," Dorian said, looking down at the board and waving a hand in her direction.

The request gave her pause. She quickly evaluated her choices, then nodded. She leaned over to speak softly in Cullen's ear.

"Do you think you could pretend I'm saying something scandalous so Dorian will be impressed with me?" Wren whispered.

"Inquisitor," Cullen said, keeping his eyes on Dorian, "I couldn't possibly."

"Was that you pretending?" she whispered. "I can't tell."

"Perhaps," he said.

"I don't think he's buying it," Wren whispered.

Cullen shook his head.

"I think I may need to inspire you," Wren whispered. "Think about… _paperwork_."

Cullen looked over his shoulder at her with an incredulous squint. "That's what you're trying to distract me with? _Paperwork?_ "

"Have you met you?" Wren asked.

"I'm interested in more than just paperwork," he insisted.

"Ehhh," Wren said dubiously.

"I had hoped she would try something more risque, but paperwork _is_ probably the safest bet," Dorian said. Cullen turned quickly to look back at the board, then frowned.

"You moved that pawn," Cullen said.

"Yes. You'll find that was my chosen move, Commander. It's your turn now," Dorian said.

Cullen frowned at the board with even more focus. "I know you did something," he said. "I shouldn't have looked away."

"I assure you, I moved only my pawn."

Wren chuckled softly. "Good luck," she said. "Dorian, I need to talk with you later, about a possible trip."

"Oh? Consider me in sharp anticipation," he said. "I shouldn't be much longer." He gave her a nod and a smile, then nudged Cullen under the table with his foot.

Cullen shook his head. "I can't believe you helped him cheat, Inquisitor."

" _If_ he cheated," Wren said.

Cullen huffed in frustration. "Well, it doesn't matter," he said. He moved a piece on the board with firm determination. "Check."

"How did you…?" Dorian looked a the board. "No, this won't do. Here now." He moved a piece. "Check."

Wren shook her head and wandered off toward the library.  
  


* * *

  
When Dorian returned to his corner of the library, he found it already occupied. Wren was sitting sideways in his chair with her legs over the arm of the chair and her arm around the chair back to brace herself. A partially read book was in her free hand.

"Did you win?" Wren asked, not looking up from her book.

"Nearly," he said. "Your interruption ruined the perfectly good cheating I was attempting to do, but your distraction - such as it was - allowed me to recover."

"Sorry," she said. "And you're welcome."

"What are you reading?" he asked, tipping his head to try and read the cover.

"A book of songs," she said. She closed the book over her thumb and lifted it to show him. "The same tune has different words depending on where you are. Sometimes it's even different from town to town. I like seeing what ends up written down."

"Any favorites in that one?" Dorian asked, turning to look at the stacks. Wren opened the book again and turned a few pages.

"Some," she said. "It's a shame they didn't try to notate the music. They just say the songs are 'in their usual melodies'. As if there is such a thing."

"Could you sing one?" Cole asked, peering around the corner of the bookshelf.

Dorian turned quickly. Wren's book fell to the floor as she grabbed the chair for balance.

"Maker, Cole, you need to make more noise or something when you visit," Wren said. "Footsteps would be fine."

"I'm sorry," Cole said. "Would you sing something? You told me you would one day. Is it then yet?"

"It could be," Wren said carefully. "Maybe if we-"

"Do you need an instrument? I can find you one," Cole said.

He disappeared before she could answer. Wren looked over at Dorian.

"I was going to suggest moving to another room," she said ruefully.

"I'm actually quite interested to hear this," Dorian said. "I've heard people talk about your singing, but I've never actually heard it. Seems I should have been running around Ferelden like a vagrant if I wanted the pleasure."

"You would never have been in any tavern bad enough for me to sing in, even if you _had_ been running around like a vagrant," Wren said.

"Is there a reason you've avoided singing here?" Dorian asked.

"As Varric would say, not a good enough one," Wren said. "Busy, mostly. Too much responsibility. And Cole isn't wrong, my lute is probably a heap of cinders under twenty feet of rock and snow now."

"I found you a new one," Cole said. He walked up and held out a worn lute, a bit dusty, but still loosely strung. Wren took it, turning it over in her hands. It was finely made; it had likely been expensive once, though it wanted considerable work now.

"It doesn't belong to anyone anymore," Cole said. "Now it can belong to you."

"Where did you find it?" Wren asked, pulling her sleeve down to dust the wood and brush away some cobwebs.

"A hidden place," Cole said. "Below the castle, near a skeleton. I don't think he'll mind if you have it. He liked to play, too."

Wren blinked. "Well," she said, "we'll have to try and tune it, then."

She twisted the tuning pegs, then plucked each string, listening carefully and tweaking each one until she was satisfied. Even this seemed to interest Cole, who sat on the floor nearby and watched her silently.

"It has a good sound," Wren said. "It'll only improve with some tending. Thank you, Cole."

"Will you sing, then?" Cole asked. "Nobody will mind."

"Hmm…" Wren picked at the strings, then nodded. "Yes," she said. "I suppose there's no harm in it."

She took a steadying breath, then began to play, fingers pressing the old strings carefully as she plucked the notes. The lute had a warm tone, resonant and comfortable - traits her voice matched as she began to sing.

"Slowly, slowly, walk the path." Her voice was gentle, absorbed by the books around her, creating a bubble of intimate sound for Dorian and Cole. "And you might never stumble or fall. Slowly, slowly, walk the path - you might never fall in love at all."

Dorian set down his book and leaned against the shelves. Her volume increased as she played, falling into old routines without noticing. As her song belled out around them, nearby conversations drifted to silence.

"Golden, golden is her hair, like the morning sun over fields of corn," Wren sang. "Golden, golden flows her love, so sweet and clear and warm."

On the topmost landing, Leliana slipped quietly to the railing, shushing her companion with a press of her finger to her lips. She waved him over and pointed down to the alcove below. Cullen was as quiet as he could be walking to the rail, and fell still as Wren's voice carried up through the rotunda.

"Lonely, lonely, is the heart that ne'er another can call his own," she sang. "Lonely, lonely, bides the heart that has to live all alone."

He watched her smile softly at Cole. "Golden, golden is her hair, like the morning sun over fields of corn. Golden, golden flows her love, so sweet and clear and warm."

Far below, Solas paused in his painting to listen.

"Wildly, wildly beats the heart with a rush of love like a mountain stream. Wildly, wildly play your part, as free as a wild bird's dream."

He picked his brush back up and returned to painting.

"Golden, golden is her hair like the morning sun over fields of corn. Golden, golden flows her love, so sweet and clear and warm."

She played the last few notes, then set down the lute.

"I liked that very much," Cole said. "Will you sing again later?"

Wren smiled. "Sure," she said. "You just let me know when."  
  


* * *

  
"I have a new report here from the oasis," Leliana said. She stood at the war table and looked across at Cullen and Josephine.

"Did you get one as well?" Cullen asked.

"I did," Leliana said. "Josie?"

"And I as well!" Josephine said. "What does yours say, Leliana?"

"It is a typical Cassandra report," Leliana said. "Awkwardly written facts with a few scattered observations. She says the Inquisitor taught the scouts and soldiers how to sing 'a questionable selection of tavern songs' to keep their spirits up on the trip."

"Mine was from Dorian," Josephine said. "He also mentioned the singing, though most of his letter was an explanation of the dig sites around the oasis, and the 'distressing proliferation of mud soaked wildlife we have managed to find even in the middle of a desert'."

"And yours, Commander?" Leliana asked.

"The Inquisitor does not mention any singing," he said. "She sent a full list of the new camps they established and who they left at each one to secure and hold them, and asked how things were here."

"Very useful information," Leliana said.

"They should be back soon, yes?" Cullen asked.

"Relatively," Leliana said.

"We have to move on the Warden situation soon," Cullen said.

"Yes," Leliana agreed. "The news out of Crestwood was troubling. As requested, my scouts have made camp in the Western Approach. Once the Herald returns, she should be able to investigate the situation."

"I need to speak with her about some matters of diplomacy," Josephine said. She looked at the war table map and tapped Denerim. "King Alistair sent a letter."

"Alistair?" Leliana asked. "Well. I suppose he could use the help, with the Warden away." She frowned. "I have been making inquiries, but there's no word of the Queen anywhere."

"You were friends, yes?" Josephine asked.

"Yes," Leliana said. "I may ask the Inquisitor about putting Inquisition resources into trying to find her. My personal sources have run dry. If she is out there, trying to find a cure, she may need our help - or be able to offer us some of her own."

"I believe the Inquisitor is a great admirer of the lady Theirin. I'm certain she'll agree with you," Josephine said.

"One may hope. Was there anything else today?" Leliana asked.

"Have we found anything more about Samson?" Cullen asked.

"Yes - I have the report here. I sent a letter to the Herald as well," Leliana said. She handed the report to Cullen, who skimmed it quickly.

"Supply lines through the Graves," Cullen mumbled.

"My scouts have heard some troubling things from Emprise du Lion," Leliana said. "I will advise the Herald about it when she arrives."

"What is it?" Cullen asked, looking up.

"Just whispers right now," Leliana said, "but troubling ones. People are disappearing. Red lyrium spikes are growing wildly. Templars have been seen in the area."

Cullen shook his head.

"Going back to Dorian's report," Josephine said, "He makes a point of mentioning that the forces they have with them seem very fond of Wren and are 'eager to please her, even in this strange singing ritual'. He says that, 'while our Commander certainly commands their swords, she commands their hearts'." She looked up from the page with a smile. "I must say I'm pleased that the troops have such high morale and strong loyalty to the Inquisitor. Perhaps we could make an effort to send new troops out with her each time she returns, so that we can strengthen this bond."

"Perhaps, but she also needs experienced soldiers and mages with her," Cullen said.

"The way they get to be experienced is by giving them the experiences," Leliana said. "Though I believe we can achieve a balance. A mixed group will allow new troops to learn from experienced ones, while all of them benefit from exposure to the Inquisitor's work."

Cullen grumbled. "A fair point," he conceded. "She and her companions hardly need the men we send with them, regardless. It's more for show and to establish camps than anything."

"Then we are agreed. We push for more interaction between the Inquisitor and the forces, we prepare for her arrival with the new reports, and until then we continue to work on restoring order. Is there anything more before we break?"

"I trust I will see you both at the interlude in two days time?" Josephine asked.

Both Leliana and Cullen fell still. They looked at one another, then at Josephine.

She had a look on her face which brooked no argument.

"Of course," Leliana said.

"Yes," Cullen sighed.

"Good," Josephine said firmly. "Then I have nothing more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief note about the music in this story:
> 
> After a lifetime of working at renaissance faires, I couldn't help choosing the music found there as my source for Wren's songs. Faire songs are a mixture of modern and traditional, much like DA itself, and I hope you think their inclusion adds something to the story.
> 
> Golden, Golden is a song I first heard performed by a band called Double Indemnity many years ago. They broke up years ago, and their version of the song sadly isn't on the internet anywhere I could find. However, they got the song from a band called Silly Wizard, who are far easier to track down.
> 
> (Silly Wizard - Golden, Golden : https://open.spotify.com/track/7Fq8DFED6NIeRMIahJmG63, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bziEDjqTXEE). 
> 
> Bonus : The Schooner Fare version is also very pleasing (https://open.spotify.com/track/1yDtBsVBml0ubs3FccNHfV).


End file.
